A Dishonorable Offer
by timunderwood9
Summary: Darcy was raised by his uncle to be charming, flirtatious and keep a mistress. However he wouldn't let his uncle pick his next mistress for him. This time he'd find his own girl. Elizabeth was poor after her father's death and barely respectable after Lydia married a thickly muscled blacksmith. But Elizabeth always believed she and Jane would marry for love...
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This has been published at Amazon in the Kindle Unlimited program for the past year, so I wasn't able to publish more than a sample anywhere else. But that time over! Enjoy, it is of course complete and about 100k words. I will try to update every other day or so, but no promises for perfect consistency.**

May 1797

Charles Fitzwilliam, fifth Earl of Matlock, was in the midst of a passage d'amour with his mistress when the express rider arrived.

It was a beautiful spring afternoon, bedecked with green and warmed by a pleasant breeze. Matlock paid no attention to the pounding hooves of the messenger's horse since Jenny's pretty squeals deserved his full attention.

After a last grunt, the earl finished and sprawled on the lush red sheets. He looked at her through a haze of masculine self-satisfaction. Jenny grinned at him, and she was panting with her face still very red.

By Jove, he still had it.

Lord Matlock had only passed forty, and none of the disgusting and debilitating matters of health which had started to attack his contemporaries had yet touched him. It was his solemn duty to those poor souls to enjoy his vigor as fully as possible while it lasted.

Jenny leaned across him to reach the nightstand, supporting herself with one pretty hand on his stomach. Her movement gave him an eyeful of her full breasts. She was a damned good looking girl. It would only take him another ten minutes to be ready for a second turn about the bed.

She pulled a cigar from the green porcelain case on the bed stand. Then, lying across him, she cut and lit the fine cigar. Jenny handed it to him, and Matlock took the first pull of tobacco as the knock on the bedroom door sounded.

"Damnation." Matlock filled his mouth with the mellow, flavorful smoke again as his valet cracked his knuckles against the oak door once more. "Jones, what is damned important enough to bother me?"

His man quietly opened the door, and a cold premonition snaked up and down Matlock's spine destroying his genial mood.

Jenny pulled the satin sheets up around to hide herself, but Jones was too intent upon his task to pay attention to the naked girl. The black color surrounding the envelope proclaimed its significance.

Matlock felt the punch in his gut. Who this time?

Embossed into the wax sealing the letter was the Darcy seal.

No! Not the babe. Not Georgiana. Anne died bringing Georgiana into the world — the little girl had always been so robust since her birth.

Or…was it young Fitzwilliam?

Matlock ripped the paper of the envelope apart. The stiff letter was written in an unfamiliar hand. He stared blankly at it. Only a scattering of phrases popped out:

George Darcy… Shot himself… You were named the guardian.

Shot himself?

Anne's death had broken him, but Matlock had never thought George might do this.

How could he do this to Fitzwilliam and Georgiana? Why hadn't his love for his children kept him from murdering himself?

Anne was present in Georgiana's face and chubby giggle. She was there in Fitzwilliam's coloring and the dimples he showed when he smiled. Most of his face showed the Darcy traits, but those dimples were just like Anne's happy smile.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Matlock stamped his cigar hard into the ashtray and swung his legs off the bed. Mr. Jones handed him his dressing robe and helped him fit his arms through it. Jenny had pulled herself up and sat with blankets pulled around her throat. She stared at him with sympathy.

Matlock paced the room as he read the letter more closely. Darcy had made a new will and left a suicide note with his lawyer before walking out into the woods to shoot himself. To avoid a scandal, the staff claimed it had been a hunting accident. Jones made a cautious half grunt, and Matlock saw the anxiousness on his valet's face. The man had been with him since his university days and was nearly as fond of the children as Matlock himself.

"It was Mr. Darcy."

Jones breathed out a soft, "Oh." His expression was half sad and half relieved.

Jenny spoke from the plush, oversized bed, "It is awful — so soon after your sister, Lady Anne. Why would the Lord—"

"He shot himself."

Matlock's voice came out harsh and clipped. He looked between them and breathed heavily. He should not contradict the story about a hunting accident.

Damn him. Fitzwilliam loved his father. And having Darcy had been a little like still having Anne. They had been such close friends for so long. Matlock paced to window and looked out at the drowsy day which went on heedless of the fact that George Darcy had killed himself.

Suddenly Matlock punched a hole clear through the plaster. "Damn him! Damn him! God damn him!"

Matlock swallowed and collected himself.

Jones and Jenny stared at him. Jenny was wide eyed, while Jones's expression shared his grief.

He peered at the letter again. The lawyer had sent no news to Fitzwilliam, thinking Matlock should decide how his nephew would be told.

He needed to tell Fitzwilliam that the father he adored had killed himself.

Matlock pulled in a deep breath; he let it out.

Just a few months before, when Darcy had been drunk, his brother-in-law confessed that he believed Anne's death was God's punishment for him not being a virgin at his wedding.

A disgusting idea — more irreligious than Matlock's own suspicion that all religion was superstitious nonsense — to think that the Almighty would punish Anne for his behavior.

Matlock didn't understand. Affection, caring deeply for another, wanting their happiness — he approved of that. The people we cared for were what made life worthwhile. Darcy had abandoned his friends, his children, himself because another fragile human had died, and he refused to go on without them.

Fitzwilliam must never be allowed to think that way. The boy was only thirteen, he could be influenced yet. With proper guidance, he would grow up to be a sensible gentleman who thought of sexual congress and women in reasonable terms.

Matlock would try to make sure the boy never fell in love. He would ensure Fitzwilliam kept a mistress as soon as he was old enough to want one, and he would make sure the boy knew that marrying for love was dangerous nonsense.

Anne would be so angry with George. Maybe the priests were right, and she lived on in some way. Maybe right now she was screaming at Darcy for his selfishness and stupidity. It was pleasant to pretend they still existed.

He'd been pacing for some minutes. Jenny had at last overcome her embarrassment and scooted into a dressing gown while Jones theatrically turned around so he could not see her.

"Jones, have them prepare the carriage. We shall set off immediately for Eton."

His man bowed and went off.

Matlock turned to Jenny, who stroked her hand along his cheek and gave him a calming kiss. He pulled his mistress close to him and embraced her tightly. He needed to feel a warm, living body against his.

Darcy was dead.

They would never again enjoy a morning hunt. They would never again drink together late at night while laughing and slapping each other's backs as the room spun. They would never subtly tease Cathy when visiting her and Sir Lewis again. They would never…be able to comfort each other in times of sadness.

His own children would miss their uncle greatly.

Jenny made cooing sounds, and he cried without embarrassment.

A phrase from Hamlet crossed his mind: "A' was a man. Take him all in all. I'll not see his like again."

How could he have stopped Darcy? He should have known.

Jenny handed him a perfumed handkerchief, and he rubbed at his eyes. Nothing could be done now. He would always watch his friends closer when they suffered such a loss.

Life was short and beautiful, and his affection for others, even for Darcy, demanded he live as happily as he could. He must care for those still left.

"The story put about is that he died in a hunting accident. I fear I shall be much engaged in managing affairs. It will be some weeks before I see you again."

She nodded, and Matlock kissed her quickly. He saw through the window that his carriage had been pulled around to the front and was near fully loaded.

What was he going to say to Fitzwilliam?

* * *

The afternoon sunlight slanted over Lord Matlock.

He pounded his palm on the stone table they sat around and exclaimed, "Damn all that. Darcy, you need a new woman."

The earl leaned back in his wicker lounge chair and contentedly puffed his cigar. Matlock was a few years past fifty and still healthy and vigorous. He was still as lean as he'd been in Darcy's earliest memories of his uncle. Best of all, while Matlock's hair had gone grey, it was still thick and vibrant.

Darcy really hoped it was an omen for his own future. He admitted he was a little vain of his appearance, and going bald would not suit him at all. Though he would still be very tall. Happily, he was seven and twenty. Several of his friends had receding hairlines already, so if that horrid curse were to strike him, it likely would have started already.

"Three months. Three months since you and Miss Wickham parted ways. Too long — too damned long to go without taking a woman."

Darcy grimaced. He'd known when he arrived at Matlock for a week of hunting before going south to Hertfordshire to visit Bingley that his uncle would bring the subject up. Repeatedly. At least he'd gotten through a few days of the stay without being bothered.

Matlock just wanted to help. Even if it was deuced annoying to be treated like some green schoolboy who couldn't find a new mistress without having his hand held. By Jove, he could manage his own affairs. Darcy groaned in disgust and grabbed a bunch of grapes from the table and popped several into his mouth.

Darcy's cousins, Viscount Derwent and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam lounged around the grey stone table, puffing their own cigars. Darcy did not have one. One habit he had kept from his straightlaced father was that he did not smoke since it made him cough.

They had just returned from a delightful afternoon of shooting deer in Matlock's park. It was always excellent game. The four men sat in buckskin breeches and hunting coats, and the was table piled with nectarines and oranges and apricots and other fruits from the orangerie. Each had a large mug filled with beer from a keg that had been just pulled out of Matlock's cellars.

Darcy knew what his uncle would say next. And blast it all, not this time.

"I'll find you a new girl. I know a dozen women looking for a protector. You would like one of them very much."

"Not this time."

Matlock blinked, and he tried, without success, to adopt a hurt expression. "Whatever are you talking about, my dear boy."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. I was barely sixteen when you had the sister of your mistress at the time instruct me in the delicate mysteries."

Both Richard and Derwent grinned at Darcy openly.

Darcy glared at them, "It is what he said. That was a very memorable week, and I remember quite clearly."

Richard shrugged. "I know it is what he said. He told me the same thing when it was my turn. But I'd already tumbled one of the girls on the side of town. You were the one who needed such instruction."

"Then," Darcy continued, "when I was quite bored of her, you immediately hounded me to find another girl, and pushed that opera singer on me. She had a pretty voice, but not a brain in her."

"You didn't mind then."

"Yes, I did. Why do you think I ended it so quickly? I minded then a great deal."

Richard exclaimed, "I recall her. That was the year you told me you hated that none of the girls you met spoke Latin."

Darcy blushed but shot back, "Several of Catullus poems are quite directly about amorous congress. I wanted to whisper them at proper moments. But no chance to use my memorized knowledge. It's a deuced nuisance that they make us learn all that nonsense, but they don't teach the girls to understand it."

Matlock puffed at his cigar. The soft breeze brought the familiar scent of the smoke to Darcy's nostrils. "Don't be so ungrateful about the opera singer. Besides you've nothing to complain about. I found you another girl right after her who you liked far more. That actress, what was her name?"

"Exactly. You do know what I am talking about. And then when Lord Matterson seduced your actress from me, not that I minded by then in slightest, you arranged for Miss Wickham to become my mistress."

"Not my choice that time. You picked her. You looked at her with those cow eyes every time she was in the room."

"I have never looked like a cow in my life."

"You did too." Matlock sliced an apricot in half with his knife, and popped one part into his mouth. "Don't try to deny it. If you'd looked at her like a bull, you'd have seduced the chit on your own. She wasn't hesitant in the slightest."

"She was almost gently born, the sister of my father's godson. I never dreamed of seducing her."

"You should have. Just because she hadn't run off to be an opera dancer, didn't mean she didn't want you to seduce her. Gentle born girls have the same desires as every other woman. You know that. I didn't even need to talk her round to thinking the arrangement a good idea. She had hoped you would approach her."

Darcy sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "I admit it. I was not much of a strutting stallion then. But not a cow. I was nothing like a cow. Dull creatures, useful only for milk. I should have approached her myself, I know. My compunctions then were full of nonsense. But not this time."

Richard snorted. "You find your own girl? We tried. By Jove, you've no damned sense with women — you'll make an awful muddle of it."

"I can too find my own girl."

Matlock stopped Richard's reply. "Don't make this a matter of strutting pride or some damned bet." Matlock set his mug down and leaned his elbow on the table. "Why'd you end it with Miss Wickham? It's a damn pity her brother tried to seduce Georgie, but our girl saw through him — no lasting harm was done — you said Miss Wickham knew nothing of the matter."

"She did not." Darcy's mind went to the awful day when Georgiana returned to Matlock from Ramsgate, sobbing because she had briefly believed she was in love. "I was terribly wrong to shout at her so about it. She never liked her brother, not even as a girl, and I knew that. But…I was bored of her conversation, and she was happy to accept an independency."

"Bored of her conversation!" Matlock pounded the bottom of his mug on the table. "By Jove, at your age a man shouldn't keep a mistress for talking."

Richard said, "Ha! Darcy wanted a mistress for talking when he was much younger. Remember, that's why he got rid of the opera dancer. She only could sing."

Darcy replied, "I want clever conversation in a woman who I plan to spend so much time around." Darcy spat a mouthful of grape seeds onto the ground. He gestured at Matlock. "You and Madame Perrin talk more than anything else. And about serious topics. I do not like that you made Georgiana's governess your mistress. I like even less that you told Georgiana all about it, but you've been settled that way for many years."

Their affair had started two years after Madame Perrin became Georgiana's governess, and she had already been nearly forty. Matlock had devoted himself to their education, so naturally he spent a great deal of time in conversation with Madame Perrin, and the two found they liked each other very much.

Matlock replied, "That damned business with your father's godson proves I educated Georgie for the best. We were fool enough to trust Mrs. Younge to supervise a summer outing, but even unprotected with an experienced seducer, Georgie figured out that up was up. Delicacy. Bah. A term for keeping women stupid so they won't make a bother of themselves. They live in the real world. Best they know what it is like."

Derwent's first daughter had been born a year ago, and he said, "I will manage Susan's education when she becomes older. Like Mother kept your ideas away from Emma. Our sister has turned out quite well without any school trips to talk to filles de joie."

Darcy grimaced at the memory. Matlock and Madame Perrin had thought it was a good idea for Georgiana to know about such things. He remembered Georgiana's enthusiasm about her conversations with the prostitutes. It wasn't…delicate.

"Georgie is the most sensible young woman I know," Matlock replied. "I'm entirely pleased by her, even though her opinions are a bit radical."

Darcy shrugged. His sister was Matlock's responsibility, and in truth he was glad for it. Darcy had a high opinion of his own capabilities, but he would have made some dreadful mistake with Georgiana. And though she was completely lacking in delicacy, and they would have a dreadful time marrying her off, she was happy and likely to stay so.

"I have settled down, a little." Matlock stroked his chin. "You are too damned young to want to do so yourself."

Darcy shook his head. It had nothing to do with age. He disliked finding a new mistress every few years when he grew bored with her bland personality. He wanted the sort of companionship with a clever and sensible woman that his uncle had. Going to bed with a woman could not be impersonal for him.

Darcy replied, "Really? It bothers you so much that I wish to behave sensibly and without the rashness of youth? Singular. I thought old men always complained about young fellows mindlessly repeating their errors."

Matlock laughed. "I'm young enough to box your ears in. Don't doubt that."

Darcy shrugged, tossed the stem from the grapes aside, and grabbed an apricot. It had a good juicy flavor.

Matlock pounded the table with his mug again. "Three months — abstinence damages the organs, it causes mental imbalances, it harms the digestion. You need a woman and deuced soon. It is a matter of protecting your health."

"Father," Derwent exclaimed, "how would you know that abstinence is unhealthful? You never tried it long enough to find out."

Lord Matlock raised his glass high in acknowledgment and drained it. "At least it makes you stupid about women. If you don't have a good dance" — Matlock wiggled his eyebrows — "with a girl soon, you'll fall in love with the serving girl at a tavern."

"I do not intend to fall in love at all," Darcy replied sharply. He had long since become reconciled with how his father died, but he would not let himself make the same mistake. Darcy wrinkled his nose. "Certainly not with some tavern wench."

"No! Don't say that." Matlock blanched. "Now you inevitably will fall in love, and likely with a tavern girl. You read enough to know that soon as a gentleman proclaims he shall never fall in love, he inevitably does in the next hundred pages."

"I did not mean that I shall never feel passion or desire, but when I do I shall keep my emotions in proper bounds."

"Oh! So that is all you meant. You'll just keep what you feel in proper bounds. A simple task. Forgive my skepticism." Matlock rolled his eyes.

Derwent said, "Darcy can be stubborn when he sets his mind to it. He only lets pure disinterested reason control him."

Darcy kicked his cousin's leg. Derwent grinned and took a long pull from his cigar.

"All the determination in the world won't do any good," Matlock said, "if he is so tight packed that he is fit to explode."

Richard tore an orange peel apart. "While you search for this diamond who wants to talk about Latin while rutting, you do not need to remain celibate. There are madames who take a great deal of care to keep their girls clean. You've been a coward about brothels since that friend died of syphilis, but if you are careful—"

Darcy replied, "That is not why I avoid brothels. I like to have a reason to think a girl likes me before I take her to bed."

Richard grinned widely and opened his mouth. Darcy waved his finger in front of his cousin to stop him from speaking. "Some reason beyond masculine vanity."

"If you have enough vanity, it counts for everything."

Richard's offer tempted Darcy. Three months without a woman was the longest he'd gone since he was fifteen. It was too damned long. He suddenly wanted to have a woman desperately. An image of a line of young girls in transparent dresses waiting for him to choose floated in Darcy's eye.

Something was missing in his life and a courtesan wouldn't fill that gap.

"You should marry." Darcy looked at his uncle in surprise. "You've put it off too long — marry someone, and soon. It will give you an outlet for your needs, and I'd like more children to spoil."

"First you demand I find new mistress, and now you say I must find a wife? My dear uncle, I have been of age these six years."

"Darcy, you've always been like a son to me." Matlock furrowed his eyebrows. "You will never be so old that I don't try to help you."

This wasn't the first time his uncle had hinted so. He wasn't so very young anymore. Perhaps it was time to father an heir. "I agree — next season I shall look."

Matlock eagerly rubbed his hands together. "It is not my advice that makes you amenable at last."

"Georgie and Mr. Wickham made me think…it is time."

"I shall hold you to it." Matlock clapped his hands together. "Susan will be delighted to figure out who are the best prospects. But with all your money — you merely need ask and most families will be happy to give a daughter to you. We shall find a very pretty and sensible girl for you. Don't doubt that."

Darcy grunted ill-naturedly. "I'm not going to make a God awful fool of myself over my wife like my father did, and I don't want a woman who will think I should."

"Susan will help you. But you'll need to make some pretense of being devoted to keep her happy. Most women aren't like Susan. Most are chuckleheaded fools."

What Matlock meant was that Lady Susan didn't care about her husband's affairs so long as she had a huge allowance. She was also a good mother and an asset in politics, and she took a careful care to ensure that none of her affairs gave him another man's child to care for.

The group fell silent and munched at the fruit. It was a golden day, warm, and birds chattered in the background. The beer had a strong, slightly spicy taste. Darcy rolled it around his tongue.

Matlock puffed out a cloud of smoke. "You will visit your friend Bingley next week?"

"He has been in possession of the estate he leased for a very short time, and he is eager to show off."

"Deuced good fellow, Bingley. Have him call on me when we are all in London for the season — the estate he leased is in Hertfordshire? How far from London?"

"About twenty-five miles. You can get there in under three hours with a good team, he swears. I understand the roads are excellent. A profitable turnpike runs past the nearest market town."

"If you like the manor, I'll visit Bingley for a week or so when it gets hot in the summer. It'll be an extra feather in his cap to host an earl. How long will you stay?"

"Until early December, then I'll spend a week or two in Pemberley before Christmas here."

"If you don't find a new girl by the New Year, I shall make you talk to a dozen or so actresses and the like looking for protectors. It would be six months then, which is far, far too long for a healthy man. Find some pretty light skirt in Hertfordshire."

Did Matlock plan for him to marry or to find a new mistress?

He wasn't supposed to see it as one or the other. He did not think ill of his uncle for keeping a mistress. But as long as he'd known her, Lady Susan had known and not cared, and in turn Matlock was happy to let his wife do as she pleased. As far as Darcy knew, Derwent's wife, Lady Emily, knew nothing of Derwent's mistress.

The thought of behaving in that way made Darcy feel dirty. He did not wish to ever lie to a woman. He abhorred deception. His uncle would worry he was thinking like his father if he said that he would probably follow his vows.

Darcy said, "I am to socialize with the local gentry — unless you think I should take up with a serving girl…"

"Let a randy widow seduce you," Derwent suggested.

"Do that." Matlock nodded. "Or seduce a pretty girl with no money and no prospects, like your old Miss Wickham. You can be charming if you try. Half the girls in such a situation would prefer to be the mistress of a handsome rich man they liked instead of a governess."

God he wanted a woman. He needed to find a girl to kiss and hold and press against.

Georgiana pranced into the clearing in a light summer dress and laughingly pecked each of her relations on the cheek before asking, "You are all so lazy — when are you coming back to the house?"

Matlock grunted and stood. "We might as well now. It's almost dark."

"What were you speaking about?"

Darcy blushed and half hid his face with a hand as they walked under a thick grove of oak trees. His uncle was going to say exactly what they were talking about.

"Your brother needs a new mistress. It is round about time he stopped longing after Miss Wickham."

"Oh! He does need a new mistress. He's been surly these past weeks. Fitzwilliam, why ever did you let Isabella go? She is as angry at Mr. Wickham as I am. Did you know she is getting married?"

"Already!" Darcy felt an odd twinge of unhappiness that she'd waited such a short time. "How do you know?"

Georgiana gave him a completely superior look. "She is my friend. You know I do not have so very many. Just because you forgot her, does not mean I have."

Darcy loved Georgiana dearly, but sometimes he thought he should have sought to gain her guardianship from Lord Matlock when he came of age. It simply wasn't…delicate for her to be on speaking terms with his former mistress.

When it came time to find her a good husband, Georgiana would offend anyone religious or overly concerned by appearances, and because Georgie froze and became terribly anxious and shy with new acquaintances, she'd find it hard to meet many people.

Matlock approved. "That shows a becoming loyalty. Give her my greetings next time you speak."


	2. Chapter 2

"Promise you won't marry him."

Jane's perfect oval face was pensive, and she looked down at the straw bonnet she was stitching a blue ribbon onto. "I must marry someone. Mr. Thomas is willing."

The hot summer air in their uncle's small London drawing room stifled Elizabeth. They had opened the windows, but there was no breeze. The faint miasma from the rotting cesspits and the leavings of horses along the road permeated the room. She anxiously waved a paper fan in front of her face to cool down.

For the past weeks Elizabeth had watched her sister progressively lose hope of happiness and love.

"You cannot marry him." Elizabeth exclaimed, "He is old, bald, and fat! He looks at you as though you were a tasty joint of meat."

"I have not encouraged him."

"You have not discouraged him. He will ask — you saw how he behaved yesterday. He has made up his mind at last. Promise to refuse him. Jane dear, you must promise me."

"We have no money!" With a sudden passion Jane tossed the hat aside. "I see how our uncles act. They hate hosting us. They blame me and you as much as Mama for spending all the money after Father died. You know Mr. Gardiner wants me to marry Mr. Thomas, though he won't force me, yet. I am tired. I hate being dependent. I hate this house, I hate poverty, I hate the way everyone looks at me, I hate Mama, I even hate you for how certain you are. Nothing is right — nothing! It never will be."

Jane's last sentence dwindled away.

The color was visible in the clear skin of Jane's cheeks. Her light cotton day dress and high lace collar made as pretty an image as ever, but the usual serenity in Jane's sky blue eyes was missing. Jane buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Elizabeth breathed out, "Jane, my dear Jane." With her stomach still clenched with anxiety, Elizabeth placed her arms around her slender sister and cried with her. "Oh, Jane, this is not like you. Don't — you mustn't let it hurt you, you mustn't let it — please don't cease to be my perfect good Jane."

"I don't mean it — I don't, I could never hate you. I could never hate anyone…only…" Jane clutched Elizabeth harder. "I do not wish to marry Mr. Thomas, I really do not."

"Don't. We can be happy. I am happy, except I'm frightened for you."

"Mr. Thomas is a good man; he is Mr. Gardiner's friend, and he is even more successful than our uncle in his trade. Mama would never forgive me if I refused him. Mr. Gardiner would be unhappy — it would make all of our positions more secure. I should have encouraged him, and I will."

"No! You deserve to fall in love. Remember? We promised to never marry except for the deepest affection. Remember? Please—"

"Lizzy, I know what I must do. I beg you to support me. Do tell me you won't be angry when I marry him."

"No. I cannot promise _that_ — it would be a mistake. You would be unhappy. You deserve to be happy."

"Do you not always proclaim how happy we can be, no matter what?"

"We can be happy no matter how poor — but this, you mean to attach yourself to an odious man almost thirty years your senior who you can neither like nor respect."

Jane did not say anything.

Elizabeth pulled back to look into her sister's red-rimmed eyes. A perfectly proportioned nose, elegant cheeks with just a little childish plumpness left in them, long eyelashes, wheat colored hair. Jane combined a perfect beauty of form and content. She was too beautiful of character and person to end up Mr. Thomas's wife.

Elizabeth embraced Jane again, squeezing her shoulders together. "You'll refuse him. I know you will — I trust you. You will not sell yourself. You are too perfectly good."

Jane showed some emotion on her face that Elizabeth could not interpret. Then she sighed and let out a long breath.

She and Elizabeth still held hands but settled back onto the couch. It was embroidered with bright floral patterns. Elizabeth looked around the room. The cast iron rack for the wood stood bare in the screened off fireplace. No need for heating at midday in September.

On the mantelpiece, Mr. Gardiner had a collection of foreign curiosities his business correspondents had sent to England with various shipments. A carved ivory figurine of a man on an elephant, a brightly painted African mask, a painting of a buckskinned frontiersman in the colonies with a long rifle, a delicately colored Chinese vase. Mr. Gardiner cheerfully admitted the vase was a counterfeit Ming piece, but still very pretty.

The objects Mr. Gardiner decorated his drawing room with displayed the breadth of his concerns. He ran a profitable business. A business that produced a fair amount of money.

Money governed everything. When Mama spent almost a thousand a year on pretty clothes and entertainments, everyone in Meryton liked and admired her and Jane. Then Mama ran out of money and ran up unpayable bills with tradesmen. After that everyone looked at her and Jane with pity and thought less of them.

Even Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.

Elizabeth refused to be unhappy. She liked herself as much as ever. That was enough. When she missed the dresses, and jewelry, and books that were sold to pay her mother's debts, she closed her eyes and pretended she still owned them.

Jane had been nineteen when Mama's attempts to hide her situation from the town and Mr. Phillips and Mr. Gardiner ended. For a long time, Jane had remained herself. But lately Elizabeth was not sure.

Mary had been taken in by their cousins, Mr. Collins and his wife Charlotte. Charlotte was still Elizabeth's closest friend except Jane. Mama, with Kitty and Lydia, had moved in with her sister, Mrs. Phillips. Elizabeth and Jane had been sent to London to find someone to marry.

Hard-working young tradesmen who were not yet well established could not marry a pair of pretty sisters with a large set of penniless relations who would add absolutely nothing to their capital. The Gardiners had five children of their own. Beyond room, board, an occasional dress, and a little pocket money, they would not do anything for Jane and Elizabeth.

Mr. Gardiner saw the interest of his recently widowed friend Mr. Thomas in Jane's beauty as a godsend. At last the burden of supporting all of the women would be spread.

The sisters had been silent for some time, both thoughtful. Mrs. Gardiner entered the room. "Jane, it is time to prepare your hair for tonight. You know Mr. Thomas will be at our dinner."

The smile of Elizabeth's aunt was a little false. She knew Jane didn't like Mr. Thomas, but Mrs. Gardiner still pushed the match. With a swish of her muslin dress Jane stood. Mrs. Gardiner added, "Lizzy, come up in a half hour."

Jane wouldn't do it.

Elizabeth understood her sister too well to believe it. Jane may think about it, but when Mr. Thomas asked, Jane's good sense would prevail. Jane would refuse him. And someday she would meet a handsome young gentleman and fall desperately in love with him, and he would not care that she was penniless, and Jane would be ridiculously happy.

If only Jane had a dowry. It would be so much easier then.

If there were money, the anxiety they all felt would not be there. A dowry would allow sensible young men who needed capital to expand their businesses and improve their careers to think about marrying Jane.

Elizabeth liked to imagine things going perfectly to make herself happy. She looked out the window at the heavy barouches and sprightly curricles and neatly dressed walkers passing along Gracechurch Street.

Maybe there was gold buried under this house, left by whoever had owned the land before the great fire, or left by someone fleeing Cromwell during the Civil War, or — it did not matter, the important thing was she would find five thousand pounds worth of gold buried under the house. Jane would have a dowry, and not feel any concern at refusing Mr. Thomas.

That was a rather absurd conceit.

A distant cousin, who no one had ever heard of, would die and leave a great fortune to Jane.

That was a _little_ less absurd.

One of Mr. Gardiner's guests would bring his own guest. A young and amiable man of thirty — so he was well-established and successful and no longer needed a substantial dowry.

He would see Jane, be charmed, and in a few months' time there would be a happy wedding.

That fancy might actually occur.

Elizabeth smiled through the window at a pretty couple with a child running in front of them who walked along the street. After Jane was happy, Elizabeth would find someone for herself. Elizabeth decided she would be quite old, at least four and twenty, and resigned to being an old maid. Since today was a day for reasonable fancies, instead of tall and bold, he would be…short and… Elizabeth wrinkled her nose, but _today's_ imaginary suitor would be bald. Short and bald.

But he would have a delightful smile, and laugh when she teased him, and not care at all that she

paid attention to nothing but her novel when deep in a book. She would be ridiculously fond of him even though he wasn't handsome at all.

A few minutes before the first guests were expected to arrive the evening post came. It contained a thick letter from Mrs. Bennet. Upon opening it was discovered that the envelope had a page addressed to each of them describing the awful news.

Lydia was with child.

She had seemed so girlish and young last Christmas. Lydia had only turned fifteen months ago. The father was a blacksmith in the village next to Netherfield.

A blacksmith!

He was willing to marry Lydia, and, after lengthy consideration, Mr. Phillips and Mrs. Bennet decided the scandal of Lydia having a blacksmith's child while unmarried would be even worse than Lydia marrying the blacksmith. Besides, Mr. Phillips refused to allow her to remain in his house.

To Mrs. Bennet's great disgust, there was real affection between the couple, and both parties were eager to marry.

A blacksmith.

Their father had been one of the richest gentlemen in the neighborhood. This was falling very low indeed.

Mr. Gardiner stomped around and rubbed at his slowly growing bald spot. "Horrible — this is horrible. How could Fanny show so little care?"

Mrs. Gardiner said, "She will no longer have any pretensions to being a gentlewoman. We must cut all connections with her. But, everyone will still know."

"Yes." Mr. Gardiner looked at Jane and Elizabeth. "Neither of you had any notion? Lydia did not suggest something of this sort in a letter to one of you?"

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "Lydia — write a letter?"

"Yes, of course."

Mr. Gardiner paced again, waving the paper in front of him and muttering under his breath.

The door rang, and the Gardiners' maid brought Mr. Thomas to the aghast gathering in the drawing room.

He had taken care to dress well today. The neat cut of his coat and the fine silk of his cravat did not disguise the way the man's large stomach hung out, or his double chin, or the way he'd lost all of his hair except a fringe of grey.

Elizabeth had not disliked Mr. Thomas before his wife died. He had been taken by Jane's beauty, but most men were. He had struck her as bland and slow of wit in everything that didn't relate to acquiring money. But otherwise a decent sort. Given how much he cared about capital and ensuring his sons were well-established, it surprised Elizabeth that when he entered half mourning he began to present himself as a suitor for Jane.

Jane would smile at him and talk freely to the older man, but she never showed any real enthusiasm. For several months Mr. Thomas had seemed unsure, but in the past two weeks his attentions had sharpened.

When he entered the room he walked to Jane and kissed her hand.

Greetings were made all around, but he caught the stressed mood and looked at Mr. Gardiner in curiosity. With a grimace Mr. Gardiner said, "Thomas, we must talk in my office."

The three ladies sat. Mrs. Gardiner wondered aloud whether Lydia's behavior would make Mr. Thomas run away or not, Jane looked relieved as her aunt thought most likely he would withdraw. Of course Jane did not wish to refuse a man.

What was happening? The curiosity drove out all thought about Lydia. Elizabeth stood and said, "I shall wear my lavender shawl instead."

Instead of going to her room Elizabeth went into the hallway and winked at the maid who was passing through. Elizabeth did not demand much ceremony, and Ruth was a friend of hers. While the servant watched with a smirk, Elizabeth pressed her ear softly against the varnished door to Mr. Gardiner's study.

"No. It is too much. Too much." Mr. Thomas's voice rang out with disgust. "A blacksmith!"

Mr. Gardiner replied in a quiet soothing tone, but Elizabeth could not catch his words.

"Your niece is too proud of her looks. She does not even like me."

"You would appear a hero if you offered now."

"A village blacksmith! You are such an excellent man that I assumed your nieces must share those virtues. I was clearly wrong. A blacksmith! What if Miss Bennet has such a faulty character too? I cannot marry her. It would explain why she showed no interest in my attentions. I am a respectable man whose income is far above what she could expect. Miss Bennet wants some worthless, pretty dandy. Well, she can have him. Mark my words — nobody of any substance will marry any of those girls. Nobody."

Thinking the conference was over, Elizabeth rushed away from the door and went upstairs to grab her shawl.

Was Mr. Thomas right?

Elizabeth felt a chill for her own future as her feet pounded up the hollow wooden stair-steps. Her hopes focused on Jane, but she wished to fall in love and marry as well. It was so shocking. A blacksmith.

Mr. Thomas couldn't be right. At least Jane would find someone.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr. Phillips paced in his tidily furnished drawing room. He studied Elizabeth and Jane. Elizabeth kept a calm smile pasted on her face, and resisted the urge to brush at her hair or shout at him.

"Why _both_ of you?" He at last whined, "When I sent Kitty off to get her away from _that woman_ I knew I'd need to take one girl to relieve Gardiner, but why both? Do you really not prefer London? Don't you have any consideration for me?"

Elizabeth shrugged and smiled. "I am delighted I shall see all my friends again — and I have missed the ability to walk in the country."

"Jane, couldn't you have stayed in London? Not even out of affection for me? You do not even know how to walk — though it may be healthy for you — you've become plump. You'll lose your figure, and then what vanishing hope I have of getting rid of you will go."

Elizabeth looked away from her uncle and rolled her eyes as Jane replied with her pretty voice, "You know Mama wished me here."

In a brief burst of optimism, Mrs. Bennet had Jane come back when she heard a wealthy gentleman had taken Netherfield Park. Elizabeth would follow Jane wherever she went. However, by the time Mama met them at the post stop midway, she was completely convinced none of her daughters would ever marry. Lydia, after all, was no longer a daughter.

"I won't spoil you two like I'm sure Gardiner did." Mr. Phillips stamped his foot. "You hear me! I'm sure you are both immoral like Lydia, and useless like your mother. I want my spare room back, so you both will bed down in the attic. I won't provide new dresses, pocket money — nothing. I'm done spoiling wanton girls. I gave Lydia more than she deserved, and look what happened. A blacksmith. That trollop. That bitch. She stared at that man's muscles when he came to my office. Not again."

Jane blushed at Mr. Phillips's crudity. But she replied, "Oh — we do not mind at all. It is quite natural, and you must want to save everything for your own children. We will be perfectly content in the attic."

Elizabeth found it quite hard to not roll her eyes at Jane being Jane.

Mr. Phillips stared at Elizabeth, and with less grace than Jane, she said, "Yes, Uncle. Can you at least pay the fee for the circulating library—"

Mr. Phillips stomped his foot angrily. "No. A hundred times no. I do not want either of you, but I married that damn woman so I must provide shelter and food for her slatternly sisters and nieces. But nothing more. _Nothing more_."

"It is not much money, and" — Elizabeth could not resist smiling impishly, though she knew as she spoke it was a mistake — "reading novels will keep me out of trouble. I really think that if Lydia had read more—"

"No trouble! You will not seek trouble! If you do anything, I'll throw you out in the cold and make Gardiner take you all. If you need to read to stay out of trouble, there is the Bible, and I can loan you a legal reference."

There was enough space in the attic to allow a bed for both Jane and Elizabeth to be set up, and

there was a small wardrobe for them to share. The room used to house an extra maid, but as Mr. Phillips decided Elizabeth and Jane could help with some housework, he was letting one of his servants go.

There was no heating in the room, and it would get cold during the winter. And, being the highest room the house, it would be stuffy in the summer. Not important, Elizabeth decided, they would spend little time during the day in the small room anyways.

Elizabeth grinned and suppressed the urge to hop up and down to hear what sound the floors would make. She was so happy to be back in Meryton.

The walls were thin white plaster, and there was a window that faced on to the main street through Meryton. Except when she had climbed the church steeple, Elizabeth had never looked down at the familiar street from so high up. The people looked small. The roof sloped down, and their bed was nestled against where its angle intersected the hardwood floor.

"Jane, you shall sleep closer to the wall, so that you are the one to bang your head every morning."

"I would have to in any case," Jane said as she folded her undergarments and placed them into a drawer. "You often stay awake quite past a proper hour reading."

"And I shall continue to do so."

Elizabeth pulled out the small coin purse from her reticule. She weighed it in her hand, and tossed it up to hear the clinking. She had nearly a pound saved. It was enough for several months of library fees and tallow candles, if her uncle insisted on making her pay for any candles she used. Which he would.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose, she hated how the cheap candles guttered and smelled. Well, nothing to do about it.

More cheerfully Elizabeth decided that she could convince the Gardiners or Charlotte to give her a little more pocket money for Christmas. At least she would always have new books to read.

Elizabeth grinned. "Mr. Phillips is awful — he is, Jane, do not deny it — but I am so delighted to be back. Country walks once again! Trees and soft dirt beneath my boots, instead of great paving stones, no more endless lanes of houses. We'll be able to see Charlotte and Mary regular once again, and all our other friends. And the smell — I only realize now that it is gone, but it is _gone_. It of course is terrible for Lydia — but I am glad."

Jane smiled at Elizabeth. But something in the way she looked over at the cramped room with its bare walls and angled roof said that she was not satisfied.

It worried Elizabeth. Jane would not have married Mr. Thomas, not in the end. But Jane had become desperate enough to think of it. Mama had endlessly accused Jane of being an awful daughter because she hadn't found _someone_ with a little money to marry before Lydia wrecked all hopes.

Of course then Mama accused Elizabeth of sabotaging her sister. If Mama knew how Elizabeth had begged Jane to not marry Mr. Thomas, she would have been truly incensed. Mama had always been suspicious of Elizabeth since Charlotte married Mr. Collins instead of Jane.

Elizabeth went back to the window and saw a hill in the distance. She hadn't walked to that summit in two years. Tomorrow she would!

Jane would soon perk up. They were back in Meryton and surrounded by the friends they had

barely seen for the two years since Mama went bankrupt. People here were more relaxed than in London, and Jane would become happier now that she was part of the neighborhood again.

Jane did not let her kind smile waver.

She would not let herself feel bitter.

Miss Gould spoke hurriedly. "I am glad you're back — I am. But… I have so many…acquaintances. There is no time to call. In fact, I must hurry off now. You do understand?"

"We have been excessively engaged ourselves. I beg you think no more on the matter."

Both lies. Polite lies. _No one_ was so busy in Meryton that they could not afford time to call on a person who had once been a dear friend.

Miss Gould said, "I must run, but — Miss Bennet, you must know I do wish you very well."

Miss Bennet. They had once been Harriet and Jane. Before. Harriet had been her closest friend except Lizzy.

Screaming would do no good. Miss Gould was only worried for her own reputation and family. She had herself to think about. No good Christian could think ill of Miss Gould for not associating with the sister of a blacksmith.

Jane would shock Elizabeth if she was unkind to Miss Gould.

She searched for the warmth with which to reply as she ought, and Miss Gould's face became worried. Jane wanted to scream: _Don't treat me this way. I've done nothing wrong._

Instinctively Jane said, "I know you wish me well and are truly my friend. Do not feel you must run about and call attendance on me like we used to."

"I'm glad."

The two girls smiled falsely at each other, but Miss Gould looked up at the sound of a horse cantering down the cobblestone street, and she ran away from Jane and Elizabeth with barely a curtsy.

The rider was a finely dressed gentleman on a sleekly muscled stallion. As Jane stared at him, all of her anger at Miss Gould was completely forgotten. He wore a vibrant blue riding coat and tan breaches that fit tightly around his legs. He kept a perfect seat and had curly brown hair. There was a relaxed smile on his face.

When the gentleman stopped his horse for a moment and looked around, his eyes met Jane's, and he smiled at her. Their gazes gripped each other.

Jane's stomach flip-flopped. The jolt she felt at the interested look in his brown eyes was far stronger than anything another gentleman had ever made her feel.

Then he shook himself, touched his hat and grinned at her. He rode off with a jaunty seat.

Jane's heart was beating fast and her hands trembled.

Elizabeth exclaimed, "That must be Mr. Bingley! Why he looked right at you. He liked you

exceedingly well — does my Jane like him?"

Jane blushed at the question. The shape of his nose was very fine. He had a nice jaw. And the lean figure of an enthusiastic sportsman. And his smile was so…warm.

His horse had by now passed out of sight along the road towards London.

"Aha! My Jane does like him."

"He is most likely not Mr. Bingley. He did not stop in town but is headed for London." Despite herself Jane's last words came out in a depressed murmur. "We shall never see him again."

"Ah, you are wrong. I encountered Netherfield's housekeeper on my walk this morning, and came back into town with her. The new master was to travel to London today to retrieve his sisters and a _very_ wealthy friend who will stay with him for a month or two. I asked her most particularly about Mr. Bingley's appearance — curly brown hair, a fine blue coat, and an excellent seat on his horse — there could be no two gentlemen heading through Meryton to London this morning who matched the description."

Jane's heart skipped a beat at the thought she would see him again. Even just looking would make her happy.

Sir William rode down the road in the opposite direction from that the gentleman had traveled. Elizabeth rushed over to him when he dismounted and tied his horse up in front of the haberdasher. "Sir William — did you see the gentleman passing the other way, the handsome, finely dressed one? Was that Mr. Bingley?"

"It was. He stopped and asked me about an angelic girl he had seen with flaxen hair and the bluest eyes. There are so many pretty girls here that I could not say for certain who he had seen — but it must've been you, Jane."

Elizabeth shouted, "Of course it was Jane! She is the prettiest girl in the whole county. You must introduce us to him at the assembly — from his looks he will be delighted to make Jane's acquaintance."

"Of course, of course. Mr. Bingley made me promise to do so himself, if we should discover the identity of the girl."

It seemed too romantic…impossible. Mr. Bingley would hear of her connections and refuse the acquaintance. But — the way their eyes had met. He must have felt something. Mr. Bingley would be her knight who would care nothing for social opinion or money. He would fall desperately in love with her and carry her away from her poverty and disgrace.

Then they would all stop looking at her as though she was worthless.

Nonsense.

Jane would be pragmatic. She would not open her heart to being broken. It was Elizabeth who enjoyed such fancies. Mr. Bingley would ignore her as soon as he knew.

They finished the conversation with Sir William and curtsied while he inclined his head and walked into the shop. Unlike much of the community, Sir William had shown nothing but his usual amiability and good nature towards the Bennets. Jane knew she should not feel anger towards those who avoided her and Elizabeth, but she could happily think very well of Sir William and Charlotte. They were as much friends as they ever had been.

Elizabeth grabbed Jane's hand and pulled her along the road out of town. "Come, come. We must visit Charlotte."

"What? Why?"

"The assembly. We only have a few days to prepare you."

"But what has Charlotte to do with that?"

"You saw how Mr. Bingley looked at you." Elizabeth spoke with an exasperated huff, as though the matter was obvious. "We must make you as beautiful as possible. Charlotte will happily loan you a dress and a necklace so that you can look your finest when you are introduced to him."

"I could not possibly ask Charlotte to—"

"Of course _you_ couldn't. Don't be absurd. That is why I shall — if I had piles of money, and a dear friend needed to borrow a dress for a matter as important as looking her best for a handsome gentleman, I would be very, very happy if asked to help. The golden rule, do unto others as you would wish to be done unto you."

Jane breathed a little heavily as Elizabeth pulled her quickly along the mile of road to Longbourn. It was impossible not to smile. "I do not believe that Scripture was intended to encourage us to beg pretty clothes off our neighbors."

"Nonsense. Of course it was."

Elizabeth grinned at her, enthusiasm lighting her eyes.

Jane pulled them both to a stop and leaned against a wooden fence. She took a moment to catch her breath. The railing enclosed a small herd of spotted cows. "No. Lizzy, we won't."

"Jane?"

"It is pointless. He shall hear about Lydia and then never speak to any of us. You know that is what shall happen. Even without Lydia, wealthy gentlemen do not marry penniless girls."

"They do too. There are _far_ too many complaints about foolish youths being led astray by adventuresses in the press for it to never happen. And since Mr. Bingley shall _inevitably_ marry a penniless girl, he'll be happiest if it is you."

"And Lydia?"

Elizabeth pursed her lips into an angry scowl. "I'm becoming quite radical. I don't think Lydia did so wrongly — I've been to see her on my walks, and she and Mr. Brown like each other very much." Elizabeth blushed. "Very much. She is happy, and she has some promise of remaining happy. Her marriage is less foolish than at least half the _respectable_ marriages. And her situation is not impoverished; Mr. Brown's shop is always busy, and he has two acres of freehold. They have enough money to keep a maid, and Lydia enjoys housework now that it is for her and her husband."

"You may accept our sister, but Mr. Bingley will not. And even if he could, his friends and family never would. I am not going to throw myself at an impossible dream."

"We must _try_. Perhaps _you_ won't like Mr. Bingley — all we know about him so far is that he keeps a fine seat and likes your appearance. If he sniffs and sneers and turns away, then we know he isn't good enough for you. But there will be someone. You cannot let yourself be too frightened to try."

Elizabeth grabbed her arm again and marched them down the road.

It was not _impossible_. Perhaps…providence, fate, fortune — something — would favor her this time. Maybe… Mr. Bingley had looked at her with so much friendliness and attraction.

She had always acted as she was supposed to. She never acted indecently or cruelly or selfishly. Surely that would mean something, even if her neighbors still despised her for her poverty and what _Lydia_ had done.

They walked onto the still familiar grounds of Longbourn.

Neither Mr. Collins nor his father had greatly changed the area around the house from what it had been when Mr. Bennet owned the land, and Jane had been a happy girl. The same area was a lawn, though it was not kept as finely mowed. That grove of trees was the same, just a little older. The red brick façade was the same with a pair of marble columns on each side of the white front door. Two rows of neat latticed windows.

On the opposite side, looking out from Mr. Collins's study, the gardens had been substantially expanded as the garden was his hobby, the way books had been her father's.

Charlotte rose in greeting and embraced Elizabeth and then Jane once they were brought to the drawing room. Mary got up from where she practiced the piano with young master William and with a little more formality greeted her sisters. Mary had come to serve as half nanny and half governess for Charlotte's children, and with her fondness for accomplishments and serious reading, she was well-suited for the role.

Once her sister had been a daughter of this house and not almost a servant.

Charlotte asked, "What brings you both? It must be something particular."

"We saw Mr. Bingley ride through town this morning." Elizabeth grinned brightly at Charlotte.

Charlotte nodded with exaggerated understanding. "He is a fine looking man. Very fine. I told you so."

"You did. He caught Jane's eyes — it was quite _improper_ — they stared at each other for at least a full minute. Right on the street, where anyone could have seen them." Elizabeth clucked her tongue. "The indecency of young people these days. I would never have imagined _Jane_ —"

Jane pushed Elizabeth to stop her. Charlotte smiled widely; Mary had that little frown which always suggested that she disapproved. "It was not nearly that long." Jane blushed; it had seemed very long in her memory. "Right? Pray tell me it was not."

Charlotte and Elizabeth laughed. Elizabeth said, "No fear — you did not make _much_ of a spectacle of yourself."

"I understand." Charlotte spoke decisively, "A propitious beginning, and we must make sure Jane is dressed as well as possible at the assembly."

Elizabeth exclaimed enthusiastically, "You _do_ understand. And while your father promised to make the introduction, if he is elsewhere, I shall depend upon you."

"Surely you do not think—" Jane swallowed and looked at Charlotte. Jane didn't want to feel a false hope. "He will not wish to even dance with me once he knows about Lydia."

"Well…" Their friend rubbed her thumb along her jaw line.

"Charlotte!"

At Elizabeth's snap, Charlotte lowered her hand and said with false confidence that did not reach her eyes, "Of course he will. Besides…he likes your appearance. We will arrive early and stay near the entrance. I will be able to introduce you immediately, and he will certainly seek to dance with you. You will have a chance to make his acquaintance before he knows about Lydia."

"And that will be the end of it. Even Harriet does not want to be seen with me anymore."

Charlotte nervously rubbed her thumb under her jaw again. "I never liked Miss Gould much. Empty headed hussy."

Jane should defend her friend. She should say that she understood and accepted Harriet. The Jane she had been even just a year ago would have.

Mary defended Miss Gould for her. "Reputation is a delicate thing. A woman must guard it like she would guard the most delicate china."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and said to Charlotte, "We must try."

Charlotte pounded her fist against her palm. "Exactly! While there is hope one must always try." She added contemplatively, "I never thought I would marry so well, I was almost four and twenty, you recall, and becoming quite worried I would end an old maid when Mr. Collins returned from university after his father's death. Jane, it is possible that you might yet marry even better than I did."

Mama barely spoke to Charlotte, as she blamed her for stealing Mr. Collins. Perhaps Jane should have tried to attach Mr. Collins to herself. But they still had money then, and Jane had not liked his looks or manners. But he was a decent and kind man. He would have been better than Mr. Thomas.

Jane felt such a mixed happiness and guilt that she hadn't had the opportunity to marry Mr. Thomas. Elizabeth would have been so angry when she accepted him.

Charlotte was happy. If Jane had pursued Mr. Collins all those years ago, she could have been happy instead.

Maybe Mr. Bingley would fall in love with her, and he would be everything she imagined he was when their eyes met. Even Charlotte thought there was hope. Elizabeth and Charlotte chatted about which dress of Charlotte's to alter, and what they would do with it. Charlotte demanded that Elizabeth also borrow a dress, after all Bingley was bringing a wealthy friend. Elizabeth halfheartedly refused the offer, but they all knew in the end she would agree.

Jane felt a little hope. Mr. Bingley's eyes had been very warm.


	4. Chapter 4

Balls were always delightful. Elizabeth would _never_ let herself have a different opinion. Even if she now lived on the edge of the local society, instead of the center, she loved balls.

When she entered the Meryton ballroom dressed in her borrowed finery, Elizabeth felt like she had gone back in time to when she was one of the sparkling young ornaments of the community.

The cheery lights of the candles blazed brightly, the orchestra stood in the stand practicing and tuning instruments in preparation, and there was a swirl of her neighbors in their best gowns, many wearing fabulous intricate arrangements of their hair. Elizabeth slipped out of her boots and hung them up on the racks and pulled on her dancing slippers. The thin soles allowed her toes to nearly feel the wooden floor.

She looked especially pretty tonight, though of course Jane was more beautiful. A gentleman approached Elizabeth and gained her promise for the first dance of the night. Soon Jane was engaged for several sets as well, and Elizabeth became worried. Mr. Bingley and his party had not yet arrived, and if they took too long Jane's card would fill. She often had no opportunity to sit during a night.

The couples lined up for the first dance, and the band waited silently for the order to begin. Charlotte and Mr. Collins went to the head of the line, having priority as Longbourn was the greatest estate besides the Netherfield in the neighborhood. Elizabeth and Jane were led by their partners to near the middle of the line, and with a signal from Charlotte the band began.

Elizabeth loved her chance to dance, even though her partner was not skilled at the art. That did not bother. At least not _much_. She kept part of her attention cocked towards the entryway, waiting for Mr. Bingley to arrive.

At last!

The first dance was almost complete when all of the ladies stopped dancing and turned to look at the new entrants. Mr. Bingley appeared as he had before: handsome with curly brown hair and a look that promised easy good manners. One of his companions was _very_ tall, with a perfect regularity of features. He had an unfortunately solemn expression on his face, but if he ever smiled he would look very handsome indeed. Elizabeth glanced at Jane; she stared at Mr. Bingley as Charlotte brought her forward from out of the dance to meet their new neighbors.

Excellent, she could guiltlessly ogle the tall gentleman. He was very tall, and had a neatly tailored coat that displayed his lean figure to perfection.

The two ladies had a look of fine fashionable disdain, and Elizabeth instantly knew they would never befriend the disgraced Bennet sisters. A short balding gentleman with a rotund figure with a florid face hung about the older looking sister.

Charlotte and Mr. Collins greeted the newcomers, and Jane was right behind them. After the first exchange of words, Charlotte introduced Jane to Mr. Bingley who was watching her closely.

Bingley eagerly took Jane's hand to kiss in the introduction, and the two smiled brightly at each other. Bingley led Jane to the line for the next dance, while with a bow, and a sudden perfect smile his tall friend asked Charlotte for the next dance.

Elizabeth was left to sit out the second dance, which did not frustrate her nearly as much as usual, since she could study how Bingley treated her sister. She leaned forward on the hard wooden seat of one of the chairs and watched the couple from the edge of her eyes.

Jane's wide smile glowed, and her cheeks were pink. Bingley kept his eyes on her, and regularly glanced at Jane's figure. They repeatedly stared into each other's eyes, and Mr. Bingley's color went higher over the course of the dance. They both smiled. The way they stepped through the figures complimented each other perfectly.

Jane's luck had finally turned. Deep down Elizabeth was certain.

Occasionally Elizabeth's eye was caught by the _other_ handsome stranger. He was a fine dancer who managed the steps with a fine grace and elegance. He talked to Charlotte easily and had this way of smiling that brought out both dimples. Charlotte laughed and seemed to enjoy her dance a great deal. She had been right that he would look very well when smiling.

More of Elizabeth's attention stayed on Jane and Bingley.

When the dance was over Elizabeth was asked to stand up for the next, and hence could not observe if Bingley showed Jane any further attention. Bingley asked Miss King to dance the following, while his tall friend danced with Miss Gould.

Elizabeth rather disliked that, since after how she treated Jane, Elizabeth did not want to see Harriet Gould ever enjoy any good fortune, and dancing with the tall richly dressed stranger unambiguously was good fortune.

After the dance Elizabeth said to Charlotte while they both sipped at the weak punch for a few minutes, "A promising start for Jane and Mr. Bingley's association. I watched their entire dance closely."

"Yes, they make a quite perfect pair."

"I am certain nothing can go wrong for Jane."

Charlotte nodded, though Elizabeth could see that her friend thought it far more likely than not that Mr. Bingley soon would have nothing more to do with Jane, but Elizabeth would not permit such thoughts before necessary.

"Bingley's tall friend, you enjoyed your dance."

"Mr. Darcy." Charlotte laughed and flapped her fan in front of her face. "He is a shameless flirt, but beneath that he is a clever man. That smile…it is quite the most charming I have ever seen…those dimples, and he quoted very charming poetry. I'd not known I could enjoy being described in Latin, though I have no idea what he _actually_ said. But it sounded charming. You must meet him. You would like him extremely well."

"So he is a scholarly sort?"

"He convinced me he is a universal man, capable in all arenas. Now I doubt very much that is the truth of the matter, but…" Charlotte shrugged and smiled.

Elizabeth laughed. "Am I to believe that his principal characteristic is that of a braggart?"

"Nay — methinks he has no need to brag, for every woman he meets will do so for him." Charlotte laughed. "I hardly know what to think of him. I do hope I have an opportunity to see you two introduced, so I might receive your judgment of him."

Over the next hours, both Mr. Bingley and Jane were occupied during each set. They did, however, a few times talk to each other for a minute or two. Near the middle of the evening, Mr. Bingley saw Jane standing to the side and walked towards her. However, Bingley's younger sister grabbed his arm to talk with her brother before he could approach Jane.

By chance Elizabeth stood quite near, ladling punch out of the bowl into her cup, so she overheard the conversation. Miss Bingley wore an orange dress and too much rouge for her complexion. She said to her brother, "That girl — the yellow haired girl you danced with first—"

"Miss Bennet? She may be the loveliest creature my eyes have ever fallen upon. And her temperament is so sweet, and she showed such natural delicacy. I've never spent a half hour standing up at a dance so pleasantly. I wish to ask her again, if she has any space left on her card."

Jane deserved his praise and more. Elizabeth's chest glowed at overhearing Bingley's words. He would ignore all the social pressure that demanded he stay away from Jane — everything in his manner showed unaffected good nature. He would prove to be the best sort of gentleman.

"Charles!" Miss Bingley's interruption was a harsh jab. "Forget her — I have asked after her connections. She is — heavens! Mrs. Collins never should have forced the introduction upon us. She is completely penniless and her sister is married to the blacksmith in the village next to Netherfield. The blacksmith! She may be pretty, but to associate with the sister of a _menial_."

"What! I had no notion — her behavior was most genteel."

"The Bennets _used_ to be gentry, but her mother wasted all of the slender fortune they had after the death of their father. Mrs. Collins likely felt sorry for her and showed that low country village cunning by hoping to bring the cousin of her husband into a better status. They must hope to find some fool to marry her for her beauty and thought _you_ would make a splendid fool. The only way Miss Bennet could afford such a dress is if she borrowed it special to appeal to you and Mr. Darcy."

Bingley sighed and he pulled at the edge of his sleeve.

Elizabeth's hand gripped her warm glass, and she silently begged him to ignore his sister: _Take a chance. You like Jane. Don't be a fool_.

"A blacksmith you say? The one in the village?"

Miss Bingley nodded, jerking her hatefully long nose up and down quickly. "I believe the brawny fellow who repaired our carriage. Brown."

"It is not the girl's fault — you are right. This time. She may be an angel but… Poor creature. It does not make Miss Bennet a jot less agreeable. I wish we might do something for her. I shall of course not ask her to dance again."

"Your heart is too soft — she may be the most agreeable girl in the world, but is not our place."

The two walked off. Mr. Bingley realized he was heading towards Jane and moved in a different direction to ask Miss King for a second dance.

Elizabeth sat down on a hard wooden chair with a snarl. Miss King was an ugly freckled thing, not a tenth so pretty as Jane, and she had a shrewish temperament. If Bingley was a fool who judged on appearances, she would not mourn him. He would marry some rich well-connected woman with an awful character and die miserable and unhappy.

Someone else would be there for Jane.

Elizabeth leaned back letting her head rest against the lime wallpaper. It would damage her hair, but she did not care about that _now_.

The musicians were playing a happy jig.

Elizabeth imagined how it should have gone: Mr. Bingley listened to his sister and nodded seriously as he did. He said, "Poor creature — it does not make her jot less agreeable. I shall ask her to dance again — _we_ have no need to care about appearances, and I wish to know her better."

Then Bingley — except it was not Bingley, it was someone worthy of Jane. He would talk with Jane every time they were in company, and after a few months he would realize Jane was perfect and kind and sweet, and that nothing mattered except affection. He would not give a tuppence for the scorn of the world, and he would ask Jane to marry him.

Jane would be deliriously happy and all would be well.

A voice whispered to Elizabeth, _No one she can love will ever want Jane_. Another, even lower voice, whispered, _If no one can love Jane, then you certainly have no hope_.

A good marriage had always been unlikely. It had been unlikely even before Lydia married her blacksmith.

Lydia was sincerely happy. If Elizabeth judged by the standards of gentility, she would not care about _that_. Most people only judged people by how much money they had. If blacksmiths were rich, they would be as respected of a profession as law or the clergy. If they made hundreds of thousands, rich blacksmiths would be awarded peerages, like rich tradesmen.

Well Elizabeth didn't care.

If Lydia was happy, she would be happy for Lydia. But…

Lydia's marriage had hurt Jane.

Perhaps the Mr. Bingleys of the world never would marry penniless girls with connections to trade and a country attorney. But at least they danced with such girls.

Elizabeth had sat thinking for twenty minutes, and she still was as unhappy as she had been when she first sat down.

She made a fist and shook it. Mr. Bingley's foolishness would not ruin her ball.

Suddenly Bingley's loud voice caught Elizabeth's attention. "Come, Darcy — I hate to see you standing about in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

DODODODO

When he arrived this evening, Darcy had not wanted to dance. The crush was loud and vulgar, the local crowd showed little fashion and appeared to be a barbaric horde of rusticated boors. One of the violins was out of tune.

He _never_ wanted to dance when he arrived at a ball, but he always did.

Shortly after he had come of age, he attended a ball near the end of the season at which his uncle was present. Darcy had spent the evening standing against the wall, and feeling ill used by the need to be there, and he moved away anytime a young lady acquainted with him moved in his direction.

Half way through the evening Matlock pulled Darcy into the garden. "Good god, Fitzwilliam, what is wrong with you?"

"I do not enjoy dancing. Besides all of the girls hope to convince me to marry them, and I won't. I hate talking to them. None of them know Latin or anything _interesting_."

"That _doesn't_ signify. Latin. Bah. A ball is for dancing. Even if you shan't marry them, the girls want partners. Their happiness matters as much as yours. You can survive making small talk with a girl for half of an hour, and I know Richard and Charlie taught you _how_. If you don't dance half the dances at every ball you are present, God help me I will… Blast it, I can't punish you anymore, but I'll be _ashamed_ of you if you act like such a damned clodpole ever again. I raised you better than this."

There was no choice except for Darcy to weakly bow his head and immediately find the nearest girl he was acquainted with and ask for her hand in a dance.

Ever since that night Darcy always danced half of the dances at any ball he attended. It actually did not bother him so much. He did meet worthwhile women, sometimes.

Tonight his first dance was quite pleasant. The wife of the rotund chap who Bingley said was one of the largest landowners round about was clever and good humored.

Unfortunately, all the other women were vulgar and silly. Their manners and dancing skills were not near as polished as those in London society. Still, they weren't _that_ bad. The women here were no stupider than those in London ballrooms.

His uncle held heretical and radical views, and he had taught Darcy to think poorly of the sense of all the world. Being inclined to think aristocratic circles were mostly formed by chuckle-headed fools, Darcy was prepared to think highly of the _relative_ worth of others.

It would be difficult to be stupider than the leading blades of fine society.

Darcy replied to the flirtatious sallies of the women around him with his own smiles and empty quips. While nowhere near as talented at the art of appealing to women as his cousins, Darcy had been forced by Derwent and Richard to learn how to flirt.

As always, Darcy counted how many dances he participated in, and a little past the middle of the evening he _at last_ fulfilled his promise to always dance half of the sets. The first dance of the evening did not count, since he had not arrived till it was near done.

Now it was time for his favorite ballroom pastime — staring at paintings.

He _would_ keep half his attention on the music. And he might drink a little of the punch. Or sometimes he studied statuary in the corners instead of paintings on the wall. The point was he would talk to _no one_ not a dear friend.

Darcy's occupation as a wall ornament required some art: if he just watched the dance, people walking around the edge of the room stopped to talk to him. That was not _always_ bad. This happy universe was so constructed as to contain some clever people well worth knowing.

Unfortunately, the ratio of the difficult and dull to the clever and conversable was at least four to one. Not odds Darcy wished to take — he was not a fool who saw honor in taking any dare, no matter how foolish.

He'd already had many dances worth of the dull or simply strange.

Over the years Darcy had experimented and refined his methods. He would find a good painting or sculpture and stand with a heavy frown staring at it while stroking his chin — he now had a reputation as a great lover of the visual arts, and many artists sought him out for commissions and sales.

If a particularly obnoxious person approached, he would turn to face the opposite direction from which they were walking and start humming. Anyone who still insisted on conversation after all that could only be defeated through rudeness or lies.

Much of the time Darcy actually studied the painting, and by now he _was_ in fact a great lover of the visual arts. Other times he let his eyes go unfocused, and he watched the people milling about, or he listened to the music; often he would simply think.

A well-equipped mind never faced true boredom, except in the presence of others.

This evening was one where Darcy attended to those about him instead of the painting. The walls of Meryton's assembly hall had no interesting decorations, and Darcy settled upon a poorly executed copy of the King's portrait, and he had seen a great many of _those_ before.

Instead, while he did not look directly at her, Darcy's attention was drawn to a young woman who sat near.

She was pretty, but not near so _very_ pretty as the girl Bingley danced with first. It was not her beauty which drew his eye, rather there was something in her expression and manner that was _interesting_.

She seemed caught by some melancholy that went much deeper than simply unhappiness over not having a partner for the dance. And her face went through these odd changes, she at first sat down with an unhappy huff, paying no attention to Darcy, who stood just a few feet away in apparent deep perusal of the brushstrokes used to capture George III's nose.

Her eyebrows were tightly drawn together, and she looked forlorn and close to tears. There was something so fetching in the cast of her cheeks that Darcy felt a desire to protect and help her, and he seriously considered seeking out an introduction to her so that he might have an opportunity to see if he might cheer her up through flirtation and conversation.

She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Her hairstyle was simple, none of the complicated woven flowers and intertwined braiding that fashionable women preferred. Just a simple bun and curls. Her hair was a vibrant healthy brown and it half covered her pretty ears. She had a pert nose.

A soft smile crossed her face, and for a little she was the very image of peaceful repose. There was something in her face that seemed made more for smiles and happiness than frowns. She was unfashionably freckled and tanned. Bit by bit the smile faded away into a hard frown. She breathed more heavily, and her color rose. Then she sighed and tried to smile again, but it did not hold and her full lips turned down into a frown.

Darcy wanted to convince her it would be all right.

After several minutes more, she reached a resolution and sat straight. She formed her hand into a delicate fist and shook it at whatever troubled her.

Absorbed in watching the unguarded behavior of the girl, Darcy had not noticed Bingley's approach.

His friend loudly said something Darcy did not understand, and Darcy nearly startled before he turned to Bingley with a severe frown. "Why do you bother me?"

"The night is barely half done — you must dance again. Are not my neighbors grand people? I'll have none of your picture watching today."

"Leave me alone — earlier you were dancing with the prettiest creature in the room, go ask her for another dance, and enjoy yourself in your own manner, while allowing me to do so in mine."

Bingley shook his head. "Caroline discovered her connections; they are very low. I do not know that it would be good to notice her in such a pointed manner in a public assembly."

"Then you have a reason not to dance with _her_. You still have no reason to bother _me_."

"Be sensible, man! There are so many deuced pretty girls here — what might I say to convince you to dance more tonight?"

"I do not enjoy the art, and I have already had my fill of society. You know I never dance more than half the dances in a night."

"Yes, but the ladies enjoy it when you practice the art. By Gad, I wish I were as tall as you."

Darcy shrugged, and the tilt of his shoulders expressed a smug manly self-satisfaction.

"It is astonishing." Bingley shook his head, grinning. "You look precisely like your uncle Matlock when you do that."

"I do pattern myself off him."

"Aha! He would dance again — a very pretty girl sits right behind us. Get an introduction; ask her to dance."

Darcy hesitated.

That he had watched her with interest made it feel like actively pursuing an acquaintance would _mean_ something. He would find that whatever special sensibility he thought was there in her expression only existed in his imagination.

Darcy looked at the girl again, openly this time.

Blast.

She was paying attention to them and she could hear their conversation. Now it would be rude _not_ to ask her.

Her eyes were on Bingley, who had just spoken again. Darcy felt a flash of irritation. No doubt she was another desperate young Miss who wanted a rich, handsome husband, and her unhappiness before had been because neither of the wealthy men who just entered the neighborhood paid her any attention.

She turned her eyes towards him, and their gazes met. Her eyes were a deep brown. There was something in them… Darcy felt as though he was obliged — or maybe he wished — to do something for her, and that gave him a cold urge to insult her.

However, Darcy had been taught to never insult a lady, no matter what.

So instead he kept the girl's eyes and grinned at her. It was a smile Derwent and Richard had drilled into him, one which showed both of his dimples. "She _is_ a remarkably lovely girl. _One_ more dance tonight might be possible."

Her cheeks reddened, and she met his eye with a confused half smile. Darcy's heart beat faster, and he felt the familiar tendrils of desire beginning. She was very pretty, and he hadn't known a woman for three months.

With a sudden enthusiasm, Darcy spotted Sir William Lucas, one of the local notables, standing ten feet away and called out to him and waved for him to come over.

"Sir William! Introduce us to this delightful young lady. I daresay _she_ is the prettiest girl at this assembly."

She had stood and approached them a little cautiously. The dress swayed around her, and the sleeves left her long rounded elbows bare. She was shorter than average, and her head only reached to the top of Darcy's chest. There was something anxious in her eyes as Sir William enthusiastically introduced her. "Mr. Darcy, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet to you. She is the cousin of my son-in-law, Mr. Collins, and has lived amongst us since her birth when her father held Longbourn. Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire."

Bingley started at her name, but ignoring him, Darcy bowed as Miss Elizabeth curtsied, and then he took her warm hand in its white glove and said, "Miss Elizabeth, might I hope that the gentlemen of this assembly have been such fools as to leave you an open slot in your dance card which I can beg from you? For else my evening shall be _ruined_ by my foolishness in not securing the hand of such a goddess when I had chance."

"You certainly can _hope_ that I have a free dance," Miss Elizabeth replied with a lively smile. "But as for the discovery, I must hear you beg before I can tell you."

Darcy grinned into her bright eyes, and then she blushed and looked down. "I mean to say: yes, my card is mostly empty. I am free for the next dance."

"Are you certain you do not need me to beg?"

She looked back up at him and puffed one of her round cheeks out with her tongue. With her eyes smiling, she adopted a serious expression and nodded slowly. "I think you must beg."

"Miss Elizabeth, your loveliness has knocked my soul to the ground, your eyes with their lovely color like that of the richest chocolate, they have pierced me through the breast." Darcy tapped on his chest and looked down. "Hmmm. I'd expected to see blood. Could you look to make sure you do not see any."

Miss Elizabeth giggled, and peered closely at his coat and the bottom of his gleaming neck cloth. "I believe it was just a metaphor. I can see no blood. It is fortuitous for _you_ , but it would have been a great distinction for _me_ if I'd killed a gentleman with merely a glance."

"Nevertheless, I _need_ you to dance with me, because even though it does so invisibly, my life force drains out of me, and a half hour standing across from you is my only hope of stanching the flow."

"All right, Mr. Darcy. I will dance the next with you."

He felt a fluttering in his chest at the way she smiled at him. Darcy pulled her by the hand to the floor, as the couples were now lining up for the next set. Her hand was warm and small and fit perfectly in his. There was something both sweet and lively about her. He said, "Are you certain? I was about to rhapsodize on your lovely cheeks, and how the youthful hue sits on thy skin like morning dew and how thy willing soul transpires at every pore with instant fires."

She flushed and flapped her hand in front of her face. "Oh my, Charlotte was right. You _are_ a shameless flirt."

Darcy grinned back at her, again displaying his dimples.

Miss Elizabeth said, "That cannot be original with you. Thy is hardly modern English. I know that is not Shakespeare."

"It was from a piece written around the time of the Civil War. Andrew Marvell, one of what Johnson called the metaphysical poets." Darcy blushed. "I fear the piece as a whole is a little improper, in the tradition of Marlowe's 'A Passionate Shepherd to his Love'."

"Was that what you quoted to Mrs. Collins?"

"Mrs. Collins? That excellent lady I danced with first? No, by no means. I have more than enough pretty lines memorized to keep from repeating myself during the course of a single ball. Besides" — Darcy grinned at her again — "I confess, I learned through harsh experience that ladies might compare notes on such matters, and that the effect of a pretty line is less when they learn _everyone_ has heard the same one."

Miss Elizabeth laughed.

The dance began, a pretty tune to which they swung around. Miss Elizabeth managed to do an admirable job of completing the complicated steps despite her continuing giggles. She was so pretty when delighted, and not self-conscious about laughing too hard.

The creamy skin of her chest and neck glowed and her cheeks were flushed with laughter. Her willing soul transpired at every pore with instant fires.

Their hands came together again as they pranced downwards in the line. He could tell from the rough feel of it that her glove was cheap, but somehow that only intensified his sudden sense that her hand belonged in his.

"Shame on you. Shame." Miss Elizabeth laughed. "To toy with our feelings so. And you would have said it so meaningfully to each girl."

"I do try."

Darcy was unsure what to say next. He had cheered her, but there was something superficial about such flirtatious banter. If he just flirted with her, he would know so little about the girl at the end of the dance. He was sure from watching her there was something deeper in her, and he wanted to discover it.

They stepped through another round of the pattern. She was graceful and athletic and made the movements beautiful.

Miss Elizabeth said, "You need not make an effort to entertain me, if you prefer silence. I overheard your conversation with Mr. Bingley — you were quite loud and stood directly next to me — so I know that you prefer not to dance every dance."

"No. No. Please, no. Do not say I have become such a bore that excuse must be made for my behavior. My uncle would be shamed."

"I am serious — if you have a retiring nature, I could not blame you for it. You truly have done your duty to society by dancing half the night, and I admire you for putting forth the effort. I know that for some persons it becomes unpleasant to constantly speak."

"Now, Miss Elizabeth, you have _far_ too low an opinion of yourself if you can imagine that it would _ever_ be unpleasant to talk with you."

She smiled at him, but there was still concern in her eyes.

"I often enjoy conversation and dancing, but I confess I do find it tiresome after an hour or two. However, _you_ really are not tiresome."

With laughter, she said, "I really am not tiresome? We have come down a great way from my glances pierce your heart, and the youthful hue like morning dew."

Darcy smiled. "I do apologize. I am only unsure what subject to bring up. I can continue to praise you almost to the level you deserve, if you wish. I of course cannot praise you so far as you deserve, being merely mortal. But, I shall beg the muses that I might lift up your heavenly beauty in vaulting song."

"No, no. I prefer to be merely not tiresome. I think it is more who you truly are." She grinned at him brightly, and Darcy had to smile back. "Are you perhaps a sensible man pretending to be a shameless flirt?"

Darcy laughed, caught by the turn of expression. "I believe that is precisely what I am. Though, shy and uncomfortable with strangers is perhaps a better description than sensible."

"So then you are an insensible man pretending to be a shameless flirt." There was a pert satisfaction in her tone and face at how she had turned his statement around.

Darcy laughed again. "No one, I daresay, not even a rock, could be insensible in your presence. Do you enjoy wordplay?"

"I do. A great deal."

The first half of the dance ended, and all of the couples had cycled through to return to the point in the line where they had started. The tune was begun again. "I truly am pleased that Bingley forced me to dance. I think you are my favorite partner of the night."

"Oh my, you only think that. And only for this night? And you required your friend to force you to dance with me. High praise indeed."

"Do you wish absurd flattery?"

"Nay, nay, your grounded flattery is quite as entertaining. I do prefer it, _I think_."

"I must ensure you never meet my cousins, for you would give them knowledge they would tease me about for a year."

"A sound policy for protection. Are they charming men?"

" _You_ would not like them at all, for they only know how to offer absurd flattery."

"I did like your absurd flattery. Forcing me to look at your fine coat and well-shaped chest to ensure you were not bleeding, that was inspired. It is only that I prefer to tease you about your reasonable statements. Truly though, shame on you. You clearly love your cousins dearly, yet you defame them to strange women."

"A strange woman? I shall not argue with your characterization of yourself."

Miss Elizabeth laughed, and she looked very pleased, as he'd expected.

They continued to laugh and tease each other, but when the dance was nearly over, Miss Elizabeth frowned and looked to the side. She said quickly, "You ought to meet my sister, Jane. Perhaps you would like her as well. She _actually_ is the prettiest girl in the room. And her temperament is perfectly sweet. You would not find a dance with her tiresome either."

"Your sister?" Darcy was a little annoyed that she was breaking their conversation to ask a favor. From the nervous way she didn't quite look at him, Darcy was quite sure Miss Elizabeth thought she was begging something from him.

He didn't say anything more for a moment. She looked at him with something pleading and sweet in her dark eyes. "She is completely perfect. In every way." Miss Elizabeth bit her lip and looked to the side again. "She was the girl Bingley danced with first, you _said_ you thought her the prettiest in the room."

Bingley had also said she had very low relations, which meant Miss Elizabeth also had very low relations. Low enough to scare _Bingley_ off from a girl.

Miss Elizabeth missed a step and half tripped over one of their neighbors as Darcy watched her. She quickly begged forgiveness from the lady and cautiously looked back at Darcy.

"A sweet temperament? I saw that she smiles very much."

"Yes, she does, and she is never cross, and she never argues with anyone, and she always thinks the best of everybody, and…and…"

Darcy somehow felt sad. There was a desperation in her to help her sister. The melancholy that he'd seen in her face while he watched her seated against the wall before the dance had returned to her eyes. Darcy had a terrible curiosity to hear what was wrong with their relations. "I'll ask your sister to dance."

"You will?" There was shock in her face.

"Yes, I will."

"Oh, but you do not know. You must not know, not yet. I cannot hold you to such a promise."

"It then falls to me to hold myself to it."

The dance ended. Darcy saw from the corner of his eye Miss Bingley walking briskly towards them. Miss Elizabeth saw her too and with a quick blushing curtsy said, "I must… Mr. Darcy, thank you very, very much for the dance. I don't think I've ever enjoyed one so much."

She rushed off.

Darcy watched the way her dress swayed about her hips and her quick even steps.

"Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy." He looked at Miss Bingley. "You have no idea — that girl." Miss Bingley laughed. "Her youngest sister married a blacksmith when six months with child; the blacksmith in the village next to Netherfield. She may look genteel, but she no longer is. It shall be such a joke in London when I tell all our friends that the great Mr. Darcy danced with the sister of a blacksmith — an actual plebe."

"A blacksmith."

"Yes, is it not such a good joke that you danced with the sister of a blacksmith?" Miss Bingley laughed.

Poor Miss Elizabeth. That was a very low connection indeed.

She stood near the opposite wall, the color of her silver grey dress clashing poorly with the light green wallpaper, watching him and Miss Bingley. Seeing his gaze turned towards her, she immediately looked down and away. She then sat down and frowned at her hands.

What was it like to be despised for your relatives?

And all of her desperation for a match was focused on her sister. The sweet one who never argued. But she must hurt for herself as well. The local community might accept her, but she did not expect haughty strangers to.

"Do tell me you think it is a great joke. If you need me to hide it from the world, you _might_ be able to convince me to keep silent." Miss Bingley was prettyish, without being pretty. Her nose was too long, and when she smiled she gave the impression of a carrion-bird delighting over a carcass. It ruined the effect of her clear complexion and soft cheeks. Still, she was clever and personable, and her mercenary streak, which ran a mile wide, was good for regular entertainment.

But Darcy felt too strongly for Miss Elizabeth to be entertained.

"Miss Elizabeth and her sister, Miss Bennet — are any hopes spoken of for either of them?"

"Hopes" — Miss Bingley laughed mean-spiritedly — "I think their sister put paid to those. Nothing is spoken of — and what respectable man would connect himself with a blacksmith? Even a tradesman would not sink so low."

It was stupid to feel happy and relieved at hearing Miss Elizabeth was entirely unattached. Miss Bingley was grinning at him. A girl like Miss Elizabeth deserved to be happy and to see her sister happy. "You are right," Darcy spoke slowly, "Any gentleman would be a laughingstock. Poor girl."

"Don't feel sad for her. Both girls are desperate husband hunting hussies. She is hoping to catch you."

"You know that I shall never make such a fool of myself over a woman."

He looked at Elizabeth again. She sat in that same posture he had first seen her in. Her head leaned back against the wall, and Darcy thought her eyes were closed, but there was a soft smile on her face.

"It is a wonder they are allowed still to attend the assembly. This gathering ought to have better standards — but what can you expect from rustic society without the enlightening presence of any highborn families. I do wish London did not stink so in the summer, and society could stay year-round. It is not a woman's place to suggest such things, but would not ever so much more parliamentary business be accomplished if they did not take such long breaks?"

"Don't insult Miss Elizabeth. She does not deserve your scorn."

"You think her a deserving object of charity? Or perhaps you wish to be her heroic rescuer?"

Darcy did not want to discuss Elizabeth with Miss Bingley. Instead he said, "If society stayed in London year-round, when would the estates be looked after?"

"You are right — you are always so diligent about your business, Darcy. Everyone must admire it exceedingly. And you have written such long letters of business already these few days you have been here."

He had to know more, and Miss Bingley would have collected all of the gossip. "The sisters — the Bennets, what more do you know of their connections?"

There was a quick frown on Miss Bingley's face. Perhaps she wished to rhapsodize further on the virtue of his ability to write five or ten pages of business correspondence in a day? Or perhaps she did not like his interest in a different lady.

"Their mother is the worst sort of woman. When her husband died, the entailed estate went to the Collinses, and she proceeded to waste a small fortune — five thousand pounds — in extravagant living. Their uncle, Mr. Phillips, is a country attorney here in Meryton. He must do a quite small business given the nature of the neighborhood. Their other uncle lives in his warehouses in Cheapside."

"Five thousand pounds? Is nothing left of that? It is not much money, but one can live off it."

"The girls are penniless — the dresses they wear were borrowed off of Mrs. Collins. I'm quite cross with her for pushing the introduction to Miss Bennet upon me and Charles. It was a low scheming move."

"Ah."

"Despite only having five thousand, her mother kept a carriage, lived in the best house in Meryton, and dressed quite as fine as ever, even though she was spending every penny she had. It must've shocked them terribly when the sisters suddenly found themselves with no resources. It was only two or three years ago that her mother's money ran out."

Miss Bingley noticed Darcy's eyes were intent on the object of their conversation and she exclaimed, "Surely not! Mr. Darcy — you cannot consider showing any further notice to such a girl. She is so low — think of your sister and uncle; your connections reflect on them as well as yourself."

"My uncle?" Darcy raised his eyebrows. "You must recall that Lord Matlock is famed for his mistresses and irreligious opinions. An additional smudge from his nephew standing up with the sister of a blacksmith in a public assembly would hardly be noticed."

"Yes — but does not her condition disgust you? It disgusts me."

"Ah, but your sensibilities are naturally delicate. Mine are not. As a man, I am made of sterner stuff. The whiff of smoke from a forge will not send me away from a pretty girl."

He would show every attention he reasonably could to Elizabeth. He had promised to dance with Miss Jane, and he would. Then he would ask Elizabeth again.

"Even if you wish to enjoy her simpering smiles and flirts — you can see how desperately she and her sister are throwing themselves at every possible husband. It would be unkind to give her any hope that you might lower yourself so far."

"Not every woman's mind jumps from a dance to marriage. Miss Elizabeth understands her unfortunate situation."

"Oh." Miss Bingley's eyes widened, and she nodded her head slowly. "I understand."

"Whatever do you mean?"

Miss Bingley's color heightened, and she looked about. "It really is quite — I hardly can be expected to _say_ what I think you are about."

"Your attempt to be mysterious shall not work — though it is a fetching pose, and I am desperately curious" — Darcy raised his eyebrows sardonically — "yes, desperately curious to know what you are about, sadly I am too much a gentleman to seek information when a lady wishes to keep it hidden."

Darcy began to walk away.

"Wait!" Miss Bingley grabbed Darcy's sleeve and pulled herself up on her toes to speak into his ear. "You hope to convince her to accept your _protection_."

She stepped back and looked at Darcy with that carrion eater's grin. He remembered yet again why, despite her reasonable dowry and the connection to one of his dearest friends, he had never, ever considered marrying Caroline Bingley.

"Am I right? Such a thing is the best she can hope for, unless she too plans to marry a menial. You pity her — it would be a way for you to provide _help_."

The damned thing was that Miss Bingley _was_ right. His body suddenly filled with lust and desire. He wanted to have her, to see her smile at him happily as he pushed himself into her. Darcy pushed away the image.

He glanced towards Miss Elizabeth again, she no longer sat in the same place; instead she enthusiastically talked to Mrs. Collins and a local gentleman whose name Darcy could not recall. The gentleman led her towards the dance floor.

Darcy's reply was as much to himself as Miss Bingley. "You have quite a lascivious mind. The lady is still a gentlewoman, though in badly distressed circumstances. I suspect she would not appreciate such an offer."

"So you do not wish to _help_."

"This conversation is wholly improper — my dear Miss Bingley, your pretense of maidenly delicacy is slipping."

"You were the one who mentioned your uncle's mistresses. If I am debauched and corrupted, it is your doing. And since you are such a gentleman — _you_ know what must be done when a lady is ruined."

Miss Bingley grinned at him.

"Sent to an isolated Scottish estate? If I believe the novels, she will take ill and die of shame. My dear lady, I believe neither solution would be much to your taste."

Miss Bingley giggled, and Darcy added, "I shall ask Miss Elizabeth Bennet for another dance — and nothing of your hints or information shall dissuade me. Do keep your ruminations to yourself."


	5. Chapter 5

Though she kept her face and manner calm, Jane was unhappy as she and Elizabeth helped make preparations for the card party the next day.

The two sisters worked steadily, shaping out the crusts of pies from the pile of moist dough Cook had prepared. The fragrant dusting of flour hung in the air. Jane wished to sneeze.

Elizabeth's cheek was smudged white with flour, and her hands quickly worked, pinching the edges of her pie as she spoke. "Mr. Bingley is not worth your time — any man who would not see your value despite Lydia's marriage — I thought he would dance with you again. Even after what Miss Bingley told him. If he had any sense, he would have."

Jane smiled, warmed by her sister's passionate defense of her, and lied, "I expected no such compliment, I was shocked to receive the request of even one set from him. Given our situation — everyone knows who Lydia has married, and we have absolutely nothing to live upon but the charity of her relatives, nothing better could be expected."

"I expect better." Elizabeth finished working on the crust in front of her, and set it aside in the line with the seven others the girls prepared already. She pulled another ball of dough to her, beginning to shape it. "We must not lose heart, someday a perfect gentleman, twice as handsome as Mr. Bingley, will see your beauty and goodness, and never be able to stop dancing with you. It shall happen. Mr. Darcy asked you to dance, and he knew about Lydia by that point."

Elizabeth's industrious working at her ball of dough prompted Jane to apply herself a little more to the piecrust in front of her. Jane said, "He only did so because he had promised you he would. He spent the dance asking about _you_ and our connections."

Jane's hands were dirty and sticky with the flour. She then pinched her nose to keep from sneezing, leaving it dirty as well. The practice of Mr. Phillips, while not very profitable, earned more than six or seven hundred pounds nearly every year. He could afford to support them all properly as gentlewomen. It was just his spite that forced her to do this. And Elizabeth's belief that her perfect Jane would never complain.

Lizzy of course was not bothered.

It was not fair, and if Lizzy did not expect her to always be perfect, Jane would not have let Mr. Phillips make her help the cook.

A gentlewoman should not press dough into piecrusts like a servant.

Elizabeth broke the short silence which had fallen. "You are in a poor mood — do not deny it. I know you too well. Mr. Bingley disappointed you."

He had not.

Mr. Bingley had behaved exactly how any sensible gentleman would. Her sister was married to his blacksmith. Married when already with child. Elizabeth always pretended everything was fine. But nothing was. Nothing ever would be. They were not going to live the life they should have.

Papa's death; Mama's stupidity.

Lydia's lust. Lydia was a slag. A slug. A vile beast.

Letting a _blacksmith_ stick her…

Elizabeth shouldn't be so happy.

Even now, underneath her anger at Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth was happy.

She was partly happy because Mr. Darcy had danced with her a second time, after he definitely knew about Lydia. Jane wished she could tease her sister, but nothing would come of it, like nothing would come from her admiration of Mr. Bingley.

But when Mr. Darcy walked away at last, Elizabeth would not let herself feel unhappy.

No matter what happened, Lizzy would sit there and go into her fanciful world where everything was wonderful, and then she would shake her head, dismiss the fantasy with that smile of hers, and say, "Of course Jane and I would love to help prepare the pies for the party tomorrow."

It was unnatural.

The poverty and dependency didn't even bother Elizabeth. She was only worried that they wouldn't be able to marry for love.

Elizabeth poked Jane. She smiled and pulled the half done piecrust from her. "It's the last one. Muddle head. You are distracted this morning." As Elizabeth's quick fingers flattened the soft dough, she said, "Perhaps things are not so hopeless with Mr. Bingley after all — we cannot expect anything — but he does not know you yet. If he were perfect, he would just look at you and understand your goodness, but we must settle for what people actually exist. If he has more opportunity to converse with you… Perhaps tomorrow at the card party. Aunt Phillips said he would be here with Mr. Darcy and his sisters."

"I do not wish to throw myself at him, it is improper."

"You shall do nothing of the sort." Elizabeth pinched the edges of the piecrust to create a twisted rope appearance. "Any man whom you must throw yourself at could not be worthy of my Jane. There is nothing wrong in seeing what might happen. He did like your appearance — and you said yourself he was an amiable gentleman, just the sort of manners you like."

"Lizzy, nothing will come of it. We must be reasonable. No one will marry us. I should have… In London, when I could" — Jane worried her hands together — "I should have married Mr. Thomas."

"Do _not_ say such things." Elizabeth stopped working and looked Jane in the eye, enunciating each word clearly. "You will marry for love." She then returned to quickly finishing the last pie. "Mr. Thomas was closer to fifty than forty, and with five children already, and he cared for nothing but your appearance."

"He had a great deal of money. If I had married him, we wouldn't be shaping piecrusts. We would no longer be a useless burden upon our uncles."

"This is not sound — you only say it because you are disappointed now. Our uncles do not mind so much and —"

"Mr. Phillips minds very much. So does Mr. Gardiner, though he is much kinder."

"I would be happy if I had money to support and host my nieces and sister — besides, shaping piecrusts, and doing these other little tasks, it is not unpleasant. And with the circulating library, we can read as many books as we wish, and we still have servants, and good dresses. I do not feel poor. Our situation is not very poor, but settling for a man you could not love or respect, or even like —" Elizabeth shuddered.

Having finished their work, Elizabeth wiped her hands off on a damp towel and handed it to Jane.

Elizabeth was perfect, and Jane loved her sister beyond anything, but she did not understand Lizzy.

Jane could never forget that they should still be — she should still be — at the front of the local society. Things were not as they should have been.

She should have pursued Mr. Thomas. He was overweight and gross, and her distaste had led her to listen to Elizabeth when her sister begged her not to encourage the man. But Jane was already twenty-two, in just a few years her beauty would begin to fade.

She needed to be sensible in the future. Pragmatic.

DODODODO

The day after the assembly ball, Fitzwilliam Darcy woke to the morning light glowing at the edges of the heavy curtains around the window. He had dreamed of that pretty girl, Miss Elizabeth. In the dream she smiled, and he laid his fingers against her mouth to feel the shape of her smile, yet he somehow saw the pretty red lips through his fingers.

Darcy was stiff and he stretched to wake himself up before jumping quickly out of bed. He threw the curtains wide open. It was a bright clear day, and from the eminence on which Netherfield was built he could see about the rolling landscape for miles. Meryton was visible in the distance, a collection of tiny buildings with the antlike motion of carriages and carts.

He was going to enjoy this visit to Hertfordshire.

The day was perfect for a good ride. Unfortunately, it was too early in the season for a fox hunt. In the fields around Netherfield the remaining golden stalks of wheat stood tall as the farmers went about their business cutting and collecting. Women in peasant dresses with their hair tied back and covered took the sheaves as they were reaped and tied them up. In a few more weeks the fields would be flat and cleared and ready for galloping.

The gentlemen hereabouts were not a clever or fashionable group; however, conversations the previous night established that they were able to put on excellent hunts. Most of the ladies here were as bland as every other group of women, but an occasional evening spent dancing and talking would be tolerable.

And there was Miss Elizabeth.

He wanted her.

That dream.

Darcy plopped into the red patterned wingback chair next to his window. Their hands touching as they danced, her breasts bobbing up and down in time with the music, the warm light in her eyes… What would it feel like? Those lips on his, his hands on her hips, her stomach, exploring her body.

Darcy shook himself. So Miss Bingley was right. He wanted her to become his mistress. He remembered that he had hoped to find a woman he would not quickly grow bored with. Deep in his gut he felt certain he would never grow bored with Elizabeth.

But what could he do?

His cousins would tell him to flirt with her and seduce her. It would be easy in their minds. But there was something innocent and sweet about Elizabeth. He didn't want to hurt her. But amorous congress _didn't_ make a woman impure or less worthy of respect than she had been before. That was simply a foolish superstition.

They would have raised her to think any such behavior was deeply wrong. She was still accepted by society and was happy and close to her friends. To become a rich man's mistress would break her relationships with her family and friends.

No. That was merely a matter of practicalities. With a little patience he could create a position that appeared to be entirely respectable. Then her friends would not know, and she could still visit and correspond.

With a blacksmith for a brother-in-law she would never marry any respectable man. If she ever married someone who had any pretension to being a gentleman, it would be an old widower of low status who wanted a beautiful nursemaid and governess for his children.

The way her eyes lit up when she'd teased him was so delightful.

By Jove, he wanted to see the girl again.

Darcy called his valet and dressed; then he left his room and whistled as he walked down Netherfield's ornate staircase.

Breakfast, or a good gallop?

Darcy had stayed in his room mulling over Miss Elizabeth for long enough that Bingley had woken as well. He stood in the entry hall in his fashionable riding breeches and coat.

"Bingley, what say you to a good ride?"

Bingley grinned back, his teeth flashing. "Capital idea. Capital. We should make a race of it, and I daresay I'll win."

The horses were quickly saddled, and Darcy swung himself onto the large animal. They trotted the horses for a few minutes to warm them up. The morning light was bright, and there was a brisk breeze. People waved and smiled. Birds called and a hawk circled in the air.

Bingley grinned and pointed at a hill in the distance, and then took off at a gallop. Darcy chased after him, though Bingley managed to stay a little ahead the whole distance.

After the hard gallop the two friends pulled up on the reins upon reaching the small prominence. They were able to look out over the countryside, seeing Netherfield on its own hill, and a spattering of other country estates, the collection of buildings that made up Meryton, the road to London — now busy with a bustle of carts and riders to-ing and fro-ing. The morning air was still cold, and the two horses panted, expelling small clouds of frost with each breath.

Darcy sat comfortably, with his hands on the pommel of the saddle. His horse bent his head down and sampled the grass. Darcy felt healthy and vigorous and alive.

Bingley kept his grip on the saddle with one hand, and nervously pulled at the sleeve of his jacket with the other. "That girl you danced with twice last night and her sister, the girl I danced with when we first arrived. I meant to explain, her connections are very low… Extremely low."

Darcy grunted. Must Bingley tell him something he already knew? Now that they stood still he could feel the warmth of the sun. It had started to warm the day. The sky was cloudless, and there would be fine weather for the shooting planned for the afternoon. Last time they shot together, Bingley had uncharacteristically bagged more birds.

It was time to reestablish his dominance.

"Darcy!"

A little startled and annoyed by the shout, Darcy fully straightened on the horse and looked at Bingley imperiously over his nose.

"Don't look at me like that — I have to apologize, and the least you could do is listen — I ought to have paid more attention to my neighbors and known to warn you off from that girl."

"Don't worry. Penniless, her sister married a blacksmith, disgraceful." Darcy waved his hand vaguely. "Miss Bingley told me after the first dance. I like her."

"Oh." Bingley looked nonplussed by this. "And you danced with her again?"

Darcy did not reply. Bingley knew the answer to the literal meaning of his question already. There were two hawks circling in the air. Such birds, floating on the air, barely flapping their wings. It was always a stirring sight.

"Yes, I know you danced with her again. You don't need to be a deuced donkey about it. I figured I ought not dance with them. Being on dancing terms with someone whose connections are so low isn't very… ah, tonnish. You know it is my duty, since my father made his fortune in trade, to be as disgusted by those beneath me as possible."

Darcy laughed. "I expect you to perform your duty admirably — _my_ lineage is too well-established to be damaged by any indiscretion. In any case, your instinct is wrong, so long as she and her sister are recognized by the local society, keeping a loose acquaintance is best."

Bingley murmured thoughtfully. "That is not Caroline's belief. She'd rather avoid them. There is a card party at their aunt's house tomorrow night, and Caroline thought we should give our excuses."

"Your sister does not like women who are prettier than her."

"Ha. You misjudge her a little — I like Miss Bennet very much indeed. Were her connections not so _very_ poor I would desire very much to know her better. Very much — I would not wish to give her a false impression of my intentions."

"Then do not give one. If she is a sensible girl, she must know there is no chance you would consider marriage. You and Caroline can give excuses, but I will be at that card party, and I plan to talk with Miss Bennet and her sister a great deal."

"If you have no worry on the topic, then I will follow your lead."

"I do enjoy being followed." Darcy grinned at Bingley and pointed to a gate which opened into the park around Netherfield. "Now follow me back to the house."

With a shout, Darcy squeezed his knees together and set his horse off at a gallop, with Bingley laughing and following behind.

 **AN:** **Sorry for this being a bit slower than the ideal every other day. I was, as it happened, playing video games this morning and forgot. I haven't yet loaded all of the chapters yet, so it takes a few minutes top update. I do want to remind you all that if you are desperate to find out what happens right now, there is a way...** **(If you missed the author note on top, the book is available at Amazon, and other ebook retailers, but not for the Nook, because their publishing website seems to be broken).**

 **Anyways, hope you all enjoy.**


	6. Chapter 6

Elizabeth had expected Mr. Bingley to beg off from attending her aunt's card party after how he behaved at the ball. His party sent no excuses however, so most likely they would appear.

Elizabeth and Jane stood by the table serving coffee and cake to the guests as they arrived, enjoying the portion of the evening where they could speak with everyone, as without money Jane and Elizabeth had to play for pennies with their mother and a few young Misses who had run out their spending cash. Elizabeth was measuring out the cream into Mr. Gould's cup when Jane stiffened. Elizabeth handed Mr. Gould his cup and accepted his thanks before she turned to look herself.

Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley strode towards them, followed by Mr. Hurst and Bingley's sisters. Mr. Darcy was so tall and bold that everyone, even Mr. Bingley, appeared small and wan next to him.

Despite her concern for how Mr. Bingley might treat Jane, Elizabeth gave all her attention to Darcy. She knew Mr. Bingley said something amiable to Jane, but Mr. Darcy's smile tried to steal her breath again.

"Miss Elizabeth, you are yet more beautiful than before, dispensing refreshments like a veritable goddess of the hearth. It brings to mind Homer's words: 'With genial joy to warm the soul, bright Helen mixed a mirth inspiring bowl.' And I say, though _she_ were the most beautiful woman of ancient Achaea, you mixing this coffee are her equal. And 'tis fortunate Napoleon has never seen your face, for if he had, he would build a thousand ships to steal England's brightest jewel from us."

Elizabeth giggled, and Darcy smirked at her. She said, "That is extravagant praise. You have a great deal of those poetic phrases memorized. Now I must ask the banal question: how do you take your coffee?"

Darcy grinned at her. "I do not have quite so many — I looked that one up this morning when I thought you likely would be serving the coffee. With a little sugar and cream, please."

"Oh." Elizabeth stared at him, terribly pleased by the particular attention that showed. He was a very good flirt.

Darcy looked a little embarrassed at how she looked at him and with a boyish blush said, "The coffee?"

"Oh, yes." Elizabeth quickly poured from the pitcher into the cup with its blue Wedgewood symbol imprinted in the bottom. Elizabeth handed him the cup, and Mr. Darcy curled his hands to take it in such a way that his hand brushed over Elizabeth's fingers. She felt a fluttering in her stomach. She wished there was an excuse to speak longer with him.

Elizabeth absentmindedly served coffee to the last few guests who approached her and Jane, but her attention was on where Mr. Darcy stood with the coffee cup and saucer carefully cradled in his hands. He towered over Charlotte and Mr. Phillips.

That group separated, and she and Jane were now alone. The guests were assembling into groups for playing cards. Elizabeth grabbed Jane's sleeve and whispered to her, "You must play with Mr. Bingley."

"You know I can't, I haven't any money."

Elizabeth and Jane had set their handbags down on the windowsill behind them while they served refreshments. With a quick move Elizabeth grabbed and opened hers. "Here," Elizabeth said pushing her small coin purse with the last of her saved money into Jane's hands.

"I can't take this. What if I lose it all? I know how much you depend on being able to read your books."

"You must. Do not worry about it — you won't lose, not all of it, and I can beg old novels and a candle or two from Charlotte."

"Lizzy—"

"Just go. Now is your chance — see Mr. Bingley standing there with Mrs. Phillips? She'll ensure you are seated with him. Go."

Elizabeth grabbed Jane's shoulders and pushed her forward. She stumbled a little hesitantly towards Mr. Bingley and her aunt, but Jane smiled prettily to them and began speaking. Elizabeth nibbled on her lip as Jane and Mr. Bingley sat next to each other around one of the card tables. Mr. Gould was also seated with them, and he began to deal the cards.

She really hoped Jane didn't lose much money.

Elizabeth looked around the room. She spotted Mr. Darcy who stood next to Miss Bingley and Mr. Phillips. He caught her eye and waved her over. "Miss Elizabeth, we need a fourth for quadrille."

"Oh, no. I have no money to play with."

"Allow me to loan you a pound or two."

"I would be unable to pay you back when I lose the money, and I am far out of practice at the game. I _will_ lose."

"Do not worry about _that_ , the money would not even be a trifle to me."

"Yes, but it would be a matter of concern to _me_."

Darcy pursed his lips.

Elizabeth hated to stymie him, but she really could not accept money from him. It would be deeply improper. He should know that. To ask in front of her uncle.

"Then we shall play for pennies."

Mr. Phillips exclaimed, "Absurd. Speculation needs no particular number of players. We shall grab a fourth from that table."

"They have already started — it would be rude to interfere with the game. Perhaps you could lend your niece the funds. She could have no objection to receiving the money from that source."

"And then she shall lose the money, as she has already said. I spend enough to support my wife's sister and her family."

"What about a wager between us — I think Miss Elizabeth shall end ahead. You loan her the money, and if she does not win, I will owe you what amount she loses. You will give me the sum of her winnings if she ends ahead."

Mr. Phillips threw his hands up. "Fine. It is your whim — you have money enough to waste on foolish girls, I am sure."

Darcy grinned at his victory. The four sat down and the cards were shuffled and cut.

Elizabeth felt uncertain. She hoped Darcy would not mind when he owed Mr. Phillips a great deal. But of course he _wouldn't_. After all, it was not even a trifle to him. Elizabeth realized she was delighted that she could play and converse with Mr. Darcy again.

Darcy asked her, as he dealt out the deck, "Miss Elizabeth, if you're no expert at cards, how do you prefer to spend your idle time?"

"Oh, I _can_ play cards; it is quadrille I am no expert at. I confess, I prefer reading to cards. Though novels, I do not study near so much _poetry_ as _you_."

Darcy nodded his head to acknowledge her point and grinned back. He seemed to know exactly how handsome those dimples were.

As the first trick was played, Mr. Phillips said, "All she does is read and talk. It is _idle_ time. Which is better than _one_ of her sisters. Though I don't trust Lizzy's character now that I know what Lydia's was."

Elizabeth blushed. "Uncle, might we not discuss this?"

Mr. Phillips said conversationally to Darcy and Miss Bingley, "I hardly know where she gets all of the books though. When she returned after _that woman_ dirtied my good name forever, Miss Lizzy here wanted me to pay some money for a subscription to a circulating library. Well I said no right away. No encouraging _her_ to enjoy herself. Not me. She still reads all the time. I wish I could sell the books. I would too, if half were not borrowed from Mrs. Collins."

At the end of the round of play, Elizabeth lost a shilling, and Mr. Phillips won one.

Miss Bingley said brightly to Mr. Phillips, "It was very kind of you to take in your wife's sister and children, and even kinder that you did not throw them out after…well, not every man would continue to keep them."

"I was _very_ kind. Not that they are grateful for it. Mrs. Bennet only complains and complains, and she then gets my wife to nag me for her. I have made Jane and Lizzy less idle and pampered. I stuck them up in the attic and make them help the cook before parties. I never would do that before, with Kitty and Lydia. I said to myself, they are gentlewomen, born and bred. They shouldn't have dirty hands, even if it requires me to keep an extra maid. And then _ha_! Lydia was no gentlewoman. Not at all. I'm not going to let Lizzy here get away with her laziness. No, not I."

Elizabeth peeked a glance at Mr. Darcy who frowned at Mr. Phillips.

Her initial delight was already gone. She never should have let herself be talked into the card game. Elizabeth was not ashamed of helping prepare pies, but it was embarrassing. Mr. Darcy was so very rich, and it showed how much lower she was. She wanted him to see her as the lively girl who laughed at his flirts and then made a droll reply. She didn't want him to see her as impoverished and almost a maid.

Mr. Darcy laid his cards down, forcefully. What was he thinking. He looked at her and gave a small smile and shrug. He said, "I know Miss Elizabeth does not misuse her time; no one admitted to the pleasure of her conversation could think anything wanting."

"Ha! You've barely met her." Mr. Phillips seemed determined to ruin the evening. He probably was. "You'll think different when you know her more. She has none of those normal accomplishments, no drawing, she can barely play the piano, no French, nothing. If she had them, maybe she could have married before Lydia disgraced us all. But Mrs. Bennet thought nothing of the future when she was spending all that money. Dresses and rent and rich food and a carriage. I'm just glad I only have sons."

Miss Bingley said, "It is reasonable that you make her do something. I approve. A girl with such a sister should not expect to be treated as before."

Elizabeth said, "I do not mind the work, and there is no reason to be ashamed, and…and despise me if you will. I _can_ read French, though I cannot really speak it."

Miss Bingley looked haughtily at Elizabeth. "You can _read_ French, can you? Impressive — I cannot imagine what it is like to have so horrible of a relation as your sister. You bear up well. Had my sister married someone like that, I would have screamed and screamed, and ended in bedlam."

"Then it is good it was my family's burden to bear, and not yours."

Mr. Phillips said bitterly, "Lydia's fall bothers you not at all. You are just like your mother. She ran after Mr. Bennet, not because he held Longbourn, but because he was the best looking gentleman around as a youth. All of you inherited _that_. You envy Lydia for her good fortune."

Elizabeth blushed again, and saw that Mr. Darcy looked at her thoughtfully. "I do _not_ envy Lydia."

"Don't lie. I overheard you tell Jane that you thought Lydia was happy and however it hurt everyone else, you thought she'd done well for herself. I had half a mind to throw you back into the cold when I heard that. If Mrs. Phillips wouldn't have screamed till my ears ached, I would have."

Elizabeth ground her teeth. Why did Mr. Darcy need to watch this? "You entirely mistook my meaning."

"Did I now?"

Elizabeth laid down another card. She'd already lost three shillings, and now lost another.

"Ha!" Mr. Phillips turned to Mr. Darcy. "She is down near half a crown already. You shall lose that bet. Women never bring any money. I should never have married. I could have made my way eventually, even without getting old Mr. Gardiner's practice."

Mr. Darcy said, "Mr. Phillips, I was wondering what business conditions are like here in Hertfordshire."

Elizabeth looked up at Mr. Darcy, and he smiled at her little. Elizabeth tried to smile back, but could not. She didn't like being an object of pity.

Mr. Phillips replied, "Eh, I daresay they are much the same as anywhere else. What do you wish to know?"

"Are you seeing a great many land sales? How far have prices gone up hereabouts?"

"Enormously — many places are selling for three or four times what they were when I began. I imagine, since we are near enough London for a day trip to town, the demand is even greater than in Derbyshire. Your friend would do well to make an offer on Netherfield, and soon. The price shall only go up. If there is one thing the Almighty isn't making any more of, it is land."

Mr. Phillips only cared because he would get a substantial fee as the lawyer of the baronet who owned Netherfield for drafting the transfer documents.

Darcy shrugged. "I do not think Bingley is in any great hurry, and he does not need to be. He is still young. And we drain so many swamps and fens. Of late, England _has_ made a great deal of new land."

Mr. Phillips laughed. "Ha — I suppose we have. I suppose we have. Just like us modern men. Steal the prerogatives of the Almighty."

"Your own business? Is it mainly documents?"

"It always is for us country types. People need wills, contracts, mortgages, settlements, everything written up. It's a slow business — the ready dribbles in for me while it gushes for the counselors in London when some great estate is contested."

"It does. My great uncle made near ten thousand a year before he retired from the Chancery."

"Yes, all fees and fees and fees. It's why I always make sure any will I do for my clients is solid, signed and witnessed. People here do not have the money for a long case, not even the richer sort."

Miss Bingley said, "I much preferred the gossip. You men may like to discuss such things, but as a woman I demand you have some concern for our entertainment."

Darcy's face twitched.

Mr. Phillips replied, "Suggest a topic, Miss Bingley. But I won't talk about lace and fripperies and all the useless matters women fill their heads with. Fashion — fah. Just a way to spend money."

Miss Bingley smiled, "Very true. But you need us. If there were no women to spend money upon, gentlemen would grow quite lazy."

"Ha. Instead we give all the laziness to our ladies who loll about all day and night in their gowns and pretend making calls and ordering maids about is work."

"I daresay there are some who cannot loll anymore, has your newly married niece — no." Miss Bingley shook her head. "We have left that topic." She looked meaningfully at Elizabeth. "I will ask no further on it."

"If we have left it," Mr. Darcy said severely, "then it is best left."

Elizabeth did not know _why_ Miss Bingley wanted to insult her, though she understood why Mr. Phillips wished to help her. It would not be painful if Darcy was not watching.

Mr. Phillips laughed. "I perceive what you mean — I'm sure you are right. My niece Miss Lydia — I mean Mrs. Brown has likely discovered a taste for drudgery. Ha, she may not have liked it much, but she was still a gentlewoman when she was in my house. Miss Bingley, you are a sensible girl."

"Oh, not me. I'm no cleverer than other women."

"I suspect you are." Mr. Phillips gestured at Elizabeth. "I'd wager you don't go reading useless books and letting your mother spend her last penny on pretty dresses like this girl. You don't have attacks of the nervous vapors every time the wind blows wrong like my sister-in-law, and you'd never marry a blacksmith just because he flexed his muscles in front of you."

"Certainly I would not, but you disparage my sex too far. Most of us are sensible to _that_ extent."

"Maybe most well-bred, well-educated women, such as yourself, but the women round here, I do not disparage them far enough."

Miss Bingley frowned and tapped her chin thoughtfully. She looked at Elizabeth and slowly nodded her head in agreement.

"Enough!" Darcy slammed his cards onto the table. "No more of this. Miss Elizabeth, it is your turn to select the conversation."

They were all silent for a moment. The silence hung. This was a disaster. Elizabeth could not think.

"Ha, she is never quiet except when you order her to speak." Mr. Phillips sneered at Elizabeth. "Very like a woman."

Elizabeth said, "Shakespeare. Everyone admires Shakespeare. Uncle, even you enjoyed _The Merchant of Venice_."

"I did — does Gardiner often pay for you to attend the theater?"

"He prefers to rent a box. Our presence was no extra cost."

Mr. Phillips shook his head. "Useless extravagance, you can enjoy it quite as well from the galleries."

"Miss Elizabeth, which is your favorite?" Darcy asked. "I confess a love for Lear above the rest: Cordelia's death, the ranting King, the fool."

"You mustn't forget the evil sisters. Mayhap we shouldn't discuss that play." Miss Bingley sympathetically patted Elizabeth's arm. "Perhaps that one feels too true for you."

"Lydia is _not_ evil! Leave my sister be. She may have been thoughtless and selfish, but she was never, never heartlessly cruel in the way Cordelia's sisters are. I would think her most like a Juliet whose Romeo lived. Her old friends and family have all abandoned her, but she is not alone or unhappy."

Mr. Phillips said, "The more is the pity. I hope she dies when the child comes out."

Darcy stared at him furiously.

Mr. Phillips said uncomfortably, "I do not truly mean _that_ I wish her to die. Though it would _not_ make me weep."

"My mother died in the childbed. Such things are not a matter of jest."

An awkward air settled over the table. Mr. Darcy stared darkly at the cards, his fingers tightly gripping his hand. Elizabeth felt sorrow for him. She'd not known that. They continued to play, and Elizabeth lost yet another round. Miss Bingley played aggressively against her.

At last Miss Bingley broke the silence. "You really should despise your sister. I am surprised you do not. Your position has been damaged by her running away with the plebe Romeo."

"How could I blame a thoughtless child? She is yet fifteen. Those who raised and guarded her are to blame."

"Now wait—" Mr. Phillips slammed his palm on the table. He was red-faced. "I watched her as close as I could. It is the mother's place."

"I meant that," Elizabeth replied coolly. She blushed and looked down with a sense of pain. "I know I should not speak of my mother so. This whole conversation — oh, I wish I was seated at any other table. And I have lost you half a guinea already."

Mr. Darcy said softly, "I truly do not mind." He lifted his hand and then lowered it, as though he wished to touch hers, but realized it would be inappropriate.

With a laugh Mr. Phillips said, "I have won everything you lost, Lizzy. For once you've been good for something. But really, your mother is the worst woman I know, including yourself, Lydia, and my wife." Mr. Phillips looked to the side. "The deuce. Speak of the devil and she comes."

Mrs. Bennet stepped up to the table. Elizabeth visibly winced as anxiety pooled in her gut. Everything was already such a disaster, how would Mama make it worse?

Mr. Phillips said, "We were just speaking of you." He snickered, and Miss Bingley laughed with him.

Unfazed, Mrs. Bennet said, "Lord! You were complaining no doubt. It is all you do. You constantly complain about me and your wife." She smiled at Mr. Darcy, in what Elizabeth believed was supposed to be a coquettish manner. "Do I appear to be a lady who deserves all her brother's insults?"

Darcy gave her his bright smile. "I am quite certain you do not."

"You have such a handsome smile. I believe you are the finest looking gentleman I've ever seen. Lord, when you stood up at the ball — so tall!" Mrs. Bennet put her hand on Darcy's shoulder and squeezed. "Oh my, you are very strong."

Elizabeth stared in horror at her mother.

Darcy pulled back, moving his shoulder away from Mrs. Bennet, and, without his smile wavering, he said, "And _you_ are very beautiful."

Mrs. Bennet blushed and giggled like an infatuated school girl. "Oh, you are too kind. Too kind. I _once_ was beautiful, but at my age, I leave such things to my daughters."

"It is a loss to the world that you do not display yourself to it still. Your only excuse is how _very_ beautiful your daughters are."

"In my bloom I was pretty as Jane is. She is very beautiful."

"As is Miss Elizabeth."

Mr. Phillips harrumphed. "Enough of that. _Enough_. You see what I mean about how she is obsessed by a handsome face? And you know what they say about widows."

Mrs. Bennet giggled and winked at Darcy. His smile stayed fixed. Elizabeth didn't think it was real.

Mr. Phillips continued, "But she was the same way as a girl. And her daughters are just the same. It was _Lizzy_ who was insulting you when you came to the table, not me. She claimed you were a terrible mother, and that everything bad which has happened to her is your fault. If she were my daughter, I'd beat her for defaming a parent to acquaintances so. Of course, you never discipline anyone, especially yourself."

"What!" Mrs. Bennet screeched in sudden anger. "You malicious girl! I ought to ask Mr. Phillips to send you back to my brother if you will gossip about us. Were you speaking ill of Jane also? I know you jealously insult her to every man who might look at her because you hate that she is so much prettier and better natured than you are. She would have married by now if she didn't have such a hateful sister."

Elizabeth sat blank and white. Mama had said all this to her before. Repeatedly. But never in front of company. And Mr. Phillips, why did he need to be so cruel. Elizabeth darted a brief glance at Mr. Darcy who sat with his mouth ajar staring at Mrs. Bennet, and then Elizabeth darted her eyes away to ensure he would not catch her looking.

Mrs. Bennet grabbed Elizabeth's wrist and squeezed painfully. "Everything is _your_ fault. You ruined everything —you convinced Jane not to grab Mr. Collins before Charlotte snatched him up. You conspired with Charlotte to make sure she gained such a good husband, betraying your own flesh and blood. And Lydia, it was the example of your wildness which drove her to rut with that blacksmith. It all goes back to how your worthless father would indulge you in everything."

Mr. Phillips laughed with delight, while Miss Bingley grinned widely, her eyes burning with delight for the scene. Mr. Darcy still watched. Tears began to prickle at the edge of Elizabeth's eyes.

"Madam," Darcy spoke harshly, "do not speak of your daughter so."

Mrs. Bennet replied, "It is a pity you are seated here, and not with my Jane. Do not believe whatever Lizzy said about her, Jane is a very well behaved girl. And Jane is far more beautiful than Lizzy. More tractable. You did enjoy your dance with my Jane, did you not? She is so sweet, never a cross word with anyone. There is no worry that she would ever engage in wild behavior. She doesn't read too much, not like Lizzy. You should talk with her."

"I am quite happy seated here."

Mrs. Bennet said to Elizabeth, "You _did_ insult Jane to him! You liked that he danced with you, but when he danced with Jane, you needed to insult her because your jealousy was aroused. Just because Mr. Darcy is such a great man—"

"I never insulted Jane! Never!" Elizabeth threw her cards onto the table and fled out of the room.

Elizabeth collapsed onto a squat hard backed chair in the kitchen and sobbed. The pleasant smell of cooked meat and bread filled the room. The meat pies that she had helped prepare sat on the table in the kitchen, waiting to be brought out in a half hour.

Charlotte entered the room and hugged Elizabeth. Her familiar embrace was comfortable.

"I know it is nothing but a flirtation, but, _why_? Why in front of Mr. Darcy? I was happy and full of fun."

Charlotte squeezed Elizabeth tighter about the shoulders. "You will be again."

"I am so shamed. I like him and wanted him to think as well of me as he could. And everyone saw me flee the room. _You_ know I love Jane above all. I would never try to hurt her. _I_ convinced Mr. Darcy to dance with Jane; he never would have on his own accord. Why must Mama say such things?"

"Mrs. Bennet accused you of that? Vile treatment. You deserve better from her."

Elizabeth blew her nose into a handkerchief, and Charlotte made her drink a strong glass of wine. Now that she had cried and been embraced, Elizabeth felt better.

She had long ago sworn to never let her mother make her unhappy. She had complete within her own soul all she ever needed, and everything else, including handsome flirtatious men seeing her and her relations for exactly what they were, was superfluous.

Charlotte added, "I don't think she harmed your position in Mr. Darcy's eyes at all. He looked worried after you left. Besides, I do believe there is a kind core to him."

"I am still horribly shamed."

"Oh, don't worry so much about that. Here, let me help you clean your face. You look a fright."

Elizabeth giggled. "Thank you for saying so." She splashed cold water on her face and dried her eyes.

With Charlotte's help Elizabeth repaired her face as far as it could be done in a minute's time and went back into the main room. Elizabeth was sure that everyone stared at her. However, she ignored that sensation and grabbed a piece to knit from the box and went to a chair along the edge of the room.

Mr. Bingley and Jane were seated next to each other at their table, smiling together with their heads close. Mr. Darcy had joined a different table, and as if drawn by her gaze, he looked at her with a solemn expression. Elizabeth blushed and looked down immediately. Mr. Phillips and Miss Bingley were seated at the same table as before, talking and playing piquet.

Instead of knitting, Elizabeth leaned her head back against the wall. Tonight started exactly right. She imagined it all going perfectly. Darcy would have been in the same group as Jane and Bingley, and they would need a fourth. And when Darcy asked for her to join them, Mr. Bingley would have happily agreed for them to play for pennies.

Mr. Darcy would've spent the evening making her laugh with his outrageous flirtations, while Mr. Bingley and Jane actually fell in love. Elizabeth smiled. From the happy tone she could catch in Jane's voice, they _were_ falling in love.

How could Mama ever think she would insult Jane out of jealousy?

Elizabeth shook her head and pushed the thought away. She was happy again and would not let Mama injure that.

The groups of players broke up when a light supper was brought in.

Elizabeth smiled, watching everyone, but she did not want to rejoin the hubbub yet. Mr. Darcy walked over to her, carrying a plate with several of the meat pies and a glass of wine. He sat down and handed her the wine and placed the tray on the arm rest between them. "For you."

"Thank you."

He sat with a slightly confused expression on his face, as though he wished to say something, but had no sense of what. He rubbed at his forehead with one of his long slender fingers.

Elizabeth took a small sip of the wine. "Do you not have a glass?"

"I had but two hands."

And he didn't want to leave immediately after bringing her something. He was being so kind, and after the shocking display she and Mama and Mr. Phillips made. Elizabeth grinned at him, feeling better. "You can stack several on a tray, it requires a little balance."

"I am instructed. I did hope…" He shook his head. "Nay, it is too bold for me even to mention that I'd fancied I might get a taste from the goddess's glass."

Elizabeth giggled and handed him the wineglass. "Charlotte made me drink some just a half hour ago. I do not wish more tonight."

Darcy took the glass and, glancing at her, took a sip from where her lips had touched. Elizabeth blushed, suddenly horrified and titillated by her lack of thought — or had she hoped he would act so? — when she did not wipe the cup clean before handing it to him.

He said, "Leave a kiss but in the cup, and I'll not look for wine, the thirst that from the soul doth rise, doth ask a drink divine."

Elizabeth laughed. "Is _that_ all that is necessary to create a divine drink? I _am_ impressed with myself."

"As well you should be. You do not do sufficient justice to your great desserts."

"Was that from Ben Johnson? I think I recognized it."

"Bravo." Darcy clapped. "You do know poetry."

Elizabeth bowed her head to accept the praise. "Not near so well as you, I hope."

"Was that a backhanded insult on the uselessness of my education? Because to make you laugh but once was worth every hour of tedious study."

"So you _do_ find poetry tedious. I'd begun to wonder if you were truly a gentleman."

"You wrong me and my sex. It was the algebra they made me learn that was tedious. I adore poetry."

"But it was the poetry, not the algebra which made me laugh."

"Yes, but I studied both in school, so they are bound together."

"You mean to say you have _never_ on your own account read a book of poetry?" Elizabeth gasped. "Shocking."

Darcy laughed and then inclined his head, giving her the victory.

Elizabeth was really pleased to see his good humor. He looked even handsomer when he laughed than when he grinned at her. And he looked very, very handsome then.

He took a bite from one of the meat pies, "I think Mrs. Collins a very good woman. I am glad you have such a friend."

"She is the best of friends. We have been close for so many years, and I _am_ very pleased that she is happy, but I did not conspire with her. In fact, I thought she was making a dreadful mistake at the time — Mr. Collins has improved greatly since his marriage. Besides, Jane had no affection for Mr. Collins. I don't _conspire_." Elizabeth was briefly frustrated by her defensiveness. But her mother had made the insult. It would not be unreasonable for him to think there must be some truth.

Darcy's eyes and smile were friendly. He brushed his fingers over the top of her hand, comfortingly. "Of course you did not."

"I did, however" — Elizabeth pointed at the meat pastry — "I helped to prepare them. I'm not ashamed. I do not mind helping, even though I am a gentlewoman. I _am_ a gentlewoman."

"You did?" Darcy took a large bite from his meat pie and chewed and swallowed with gusto. "My mouth tastes what your fingers have made?" He closed his eyes and sighed with happiness.

Elizabeth giggled again. "Do not be absurd, the cook did all of the _real_ work, I just shaped them. And perhaps that was one of the ones which Jane prepared."

Darcy looked down at his pie and then up to Elizabeth, and then back at the pie. "You say Miss Bennet prepared half of them? And that you have no knowledge which is which? That quite destroys the meaning of the gesture." He stared unhappily at the pastry.

"Some date when you visit again, I shall set one aside special to feed to you. Would that make you happier?"

"It would. In truth."

He was such a silly man. "Then I will."

"I shall not eat until then. Or it will all taste like sawdust in my mouth if I am forced to eat before I taste what you offer."

Elizabeth restrained the temptation to punch his arm. He was being forward enough for both of them. Her face suddenly fell. "I am sorry that I lost you so much money."

"Miss Elizabeth—"

"I gave Jane… Well it is possible I shall be able to get something to pay you back with, and—"

"By no means. No, no. Besides, even if you gave me something in return, Mr. Phillips still will have won the half-crown off me, and _that_ is the only part of the matter which bothers me at all."

Darcy had such a sour expression. Elizabeth laughed again, any anxiety she had on the matter dissolving. "We did not make the best of impressions tonight."

" _You_ made the best possible impression."

"That is kind of you. And I do agree that my uncle and mother behaved such as to remove any need for a polite denial of their ill behavior. She wasn't always like that. She was…not restrained, but she wouldn't have yelled at me in front of you, or…or flirted with you before we lost the money, or even before Lydia. She is unhappy and she always believed Jane at least would marry very well eventually."

Darcy almost growled. He seemed to be truly incensed by Mama's treatment of her. "So in the past she _only_ attacked you in private. And on such an absurd matter. You promoted your sister more assiduously than any matron. Though I am afraid, while she is good natured, she is not to my taste. None of your sharpness of mind."

He was, of course, not saying that he found her _prettier_ than Jane, but still Elizabeth grinned at him delightedly. She'd never before had such a desire to be first with a gentleman over her beloved sister, but Elizabeth was suddenly delighted Darcy had _not_ taken to Jane. Of course she could not say _that_. "Abominable. Completely abominable, why Jane is perfectly sharp of mind. I would have you take that back."

"I apologize, I meant she had none of your sharpness of _tongue_."

"Thank you." Elizabeth laughed. "That is far better. Though it marks you as a strange man to prefer a girl who compulsively teases and bothers you."

"We had established the other night that _you_ are a strange woman."

Elizabeth blushed and laughed.

Darcy fell silent and looked towards where Mrs. Bennet sat next to Lady Lucas and Mrs. Phillips, laughing and apparently in delighted spirits. "Unnatural parent," he murmured.

"She is only worried."

Darcy looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he sighed.

"She only is scared none of us will marry. I do not worry. Not at all." Seeing Bingley's enthusiasm as he talked to Jane made Elizabeth say, "I am sure that even with Lydia one of us shall fall in love and marry well enough to help the rest."

"Perhaps…" Darcy looked at her with a heavy frown. "Are you so certain of that? For most substantial men, marriage is…well, it is a matter of connections more than affections."

Did Mr. Darcy think she had some hope _he_ would marry her because of his kindness, and he wished to discourage her? If he thought she had any such idea in her head, he would certainly avoid her, and she did not want that. Elizabeth hurriedly said with a hollow feeling in her stomach, "Oh, I _know_ that. I shall not marry well, and likely not marry at all. I do not mind. Really, I do not. Do not look at me so. _You_ will marry high indeed. Shall you hold out for the daughter of a duke?"

He stared into her eyes somberly. She said once more, "I really do not mind. Besides I shall someday marry, only I will be nearly an old maid, and he shall be short and bald, but have a kind and happy smile."

"Short and bald? Can you describe a man more different than me as your ideal?"

"You have a kind and happy smile."

Darcy actually blushed at that, and Elizabeth felt a bubbly grin grow inside her.

"So tell me, will it be a duke's daughter?"

"My uncle _is_ an earl. I owe it to the family name to advance our fortunes, and another earl's daughter would be _passé_."

Elizabeth laughed, and the subject was dropped.

She and Darcy laughed and talked until everyone departed. And when they left Jane glowed with smiles from her conversation with Bingley, _and_ Jane had won more than she lost. The evening contained much more of happiness than sadness.


	7. Chapter 7

Darcy woke the next morning with Elizabeth on his mind.

The way Elizabeth's eyes had tightened as she listened to her horrid uncle's attacks. He had not even been willing to pay the little money for a circulating library. He stuck her in the attic. He wanted to turn her into a maid.

Mrs. Bennet. She was still attractive in the way that healthy women a few years past the age of child bearing could be if they dressed well and cared for themselves, but she was a horrible woman.

To think, he'd been disposed to think well of Mrs. Bennet simply because Mr. Phillips despised her.

Darcy rolled out of bed and looked out the window. It looked like a cold day, but it was warm in his room, and his bare feet wriggled comfortably on the rug. The leaves had all fallen from their trees. The last parts of the fields were being harvested. Soon there would just be stubble.

She was so beautiful.

That smiling light in her eyes, her pretty hands around the cup of coffee she prepared, the quirk of her eyebrows. The way tears had gathered in her eyes. He wanted to kiss the tears from her eyes and make her smile.

She deserved a better life. Her brightness and happiness would surely be ground away by years of such treatment. She should have opportunity to flourish, to read, and to smile. She should be able to enjoy pretty dresses and see the theater and opera. She should be able to go where she pleased.

What would happen to Elizabeth when he left Hertfordshire? She would either never marry or eventually marry a farmer or craftsman in desperation to escape her uncle and mother. Maybe a very foolish man. She would not be happy.

Elizabeth deserved better.

Never harm a woman. The first rule was to treat others as you would wish to be treated. That was what he had been taught. Darcy paced. He wanted to help her. He wanted to see her removed from this situation.

He wanted to hold her, and kiss her, and place her in his bed. Then he would kiss his way down her throat, and her breasts, ever so slowly pulling her dress down. Then he would kiss her stomach, and then start kissing upwards from her feet.

Darcy sat down, with his dressing robe wrapped around him, the red silk hanging off his muscular thighs. What every other woman he had ever been with lacked, a matter of spirit, she had it.

But how to convince her to enter his protection?

She knew there was no glorious marriage in the future for herself and would eventually accept Jane would not have a great marriage either. And she liked him very much already. Surely it could not be so hard.

But Darcy felt confused. He never _had_ managed such an affair on his own. His uncle always pushed a new girl on him too quickly. Well it was time to make good on his boast that he could find his own woman.

Darcy grabbed the bell to ring for his valet.

His mind was leaping ahead of what he knew. He could be certain of nothing, not her character, not her willingness, not even his desire, without a much longer acquaintance. Two nights was too quick for his certainty that she was who he needed to be rational.

John entered the room to help Darcy dress. Once he was settled into his outfit and shaved, Darcy said to his man, "I have a task for you — it will require discretion. I wish to learn everything known in the neighborhood about Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Her history, her friends, her habits. She grew up with far greater consequence than she has now, how has she adapted? Do avoid making it appear I am curious about the lady — ask about in general. But it is Elizabeth Bennet I'm interested in."

Darcy's man bowed and set off. John was a clever fellow who could manage the situation.

He would need to proceed cautiously with Elizabeth, else he might ruin everything and make her despise him. She was still a gentlewoman and a maiden.

It was near a week before John returned with his report. At one of the evening parties Darcy attended during that time, Elizabeth and her sister were not present, as the Goulds had chosen not to invite them for small soirees. But the next dinner out, he saw her again. It was a perfect evening.

John gave a quite military report. She'd been a daughter of Longbourn, her father died from an infection which set in after a riding accident, her mother lived richly and then became bankrupt, then the family had been split among their relations. And now Miss Lydia had married a village blacksmith.

Miss Elizabeth had lived in London with her aunt and uncle for two years, and the hope had been that she and Miss Bennet would marry. Nothing had come of it, and now it was quite likely nothing ever would. Miss Elizabeth was clever, lively, and well liked, but after Lydia's behavior, many suspected she could easily turn wild.

She walked for an hour most mornings, often with a book in her hands. She loved reading, balls, her sister, laughter, and clever jokes.

Darcy focused on the information about her walks. He'd already known the rest from talking to her. He could meet her casually in the road. Darcy took long morning rides round about the environs of Meryton. The first two days yielded no sight of Elizabeth, though he did make the acquaintance of a great many cows and farmers.

On the third day, however, Darcy was still a mile out from Meryton when he saw Elizabeth winding her way along the side of the road, with a book held in front of her nose as she walked. She looked about when she heard the approach of Darcy's horse.

She blushed and immediately hid the book inside her long green coat. She wore a pretty straw bonnet and looked neatly bundled up with her kid gloves and thick pelisse. Darcy rather regretted that the autumn weather required her to cover her figure up far more than the evening gowns he'd seen her in before. She was still gorgeous.

Elizabeth looked at him with a beaming smile and bright eyes as he approached her.

Darcy rode up and with an athletic jump dismounted easily and greeted her, "Miss Elizabeth, alas the sun is now dim in my eyes because you shine more brightly by far."

She laughed, her head bobbing up and down and the mahogany curls around the edge of her bonnet shaking about. "No poetry today? Or was that an attempt at your own composition? It did not rhyme."

He took her hand and kissed it, letting his lips linger, but not too long lest he seem dangerously rakish. He threaded her arm with his own and took the horse's halter in his other hand.

"I expected you would provide the poetry today. Is it some volume of Wordsworth's that you hid so quick in your pocket?"

"Yes, yes — Wordsworth." Elizabeth stopped walking and bit her lip. Darcy did keep her arm as she drew her head up and declaimed, "Oft when on my couch I lie, my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils."

"No. No. Not _that_ poem. You were supposed to extravagantly compliment the beauty of my eye and the fairness of my face."

" _You_ suggested Wordsworth — _he_ cares more for daffodils than daffy Bills."

"A daffy Bill! Is that what you think me?"

She smiled impishly and inclined her head, her eyes dancing.

Darcy shook his head, pretending to be disgusted. He then asked, "What _were_ you reading? Since you were not repaying _my_ efforts to amuse you by memorizing your own compliments on my gentlemanly figure."

"'Tis a tragedy that your Sisyphean labors have gone unrewarded and unrecognized."

"No. Not at all. They are amply rewarded. When I hear _one_ lady's laughter, I have all the reward I might need." He looked at her meaningfully, and Elizabeth blushed. Then Darcy said jauntily, "Now do tell what you are reading."

"No — no, by no means."

"But, I shall then be forced to guess."

"And if you guess right, I shall be forced to deceit."

"It can hardly be so embarrassing — unless…you are reading some Papist pamphlet as you intend to convert to Romanism and become a nun. See, I have settled it satisfactorily. But do not become a nun, Shakespeare would disapprove."

Elizabeth giggled.

"Recall the sonnets: 'Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Which, used, lives th' executor to be'."

She crimsoned. "I've read them close enough to know what a shocking reference you intend to make."

"Shall you breed another thee, or ten times happier, be it ten?"

She clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh my. That is a quite improper question."

" _You_ proclaimed Shakespeare to be the subject. I merely follow your wishes."

She rolled her eyes. "I wished you to quote _precisely_ that line."

"So you do not intend to become a nun — you are reading a radical French text which preaches the abolishment of marriage and death to all priests and noblemen. I like my uncle very much, so I must object."

"You are closer." Elizabeth pursed her red lips together. "But still very far."

"Then I must resort to flattery, since guessing has failed: Oh bounteous goddess, Venus of Meryton, Diana of these country roads, I beg you, relieve my agony of suspense."

She grinned at him. "I had thought you were charming. That was the effort of a coxcomb."

"I swear I could praise you more nonsensically than that."

"That, I believe."

"You must give me some hint — any hint."

"It is a novel."

"No!" Darcy gasped and pulled the hand holding the horse's halter to his breast. "Say it is not so. I had believed only men wasted their time on such petty entertainments. I thought your mind and wisdom to be like that of Minerva, only greater."

"Would not the goddess of wisdom wish to know about novels, for the sake of curiosity if nothing else?"

"So your _excuse_ is that you only read this novel for the sake of curiosity."

Elizabeth laughed. "'Tis no excuse, at least, it no longer is. Only a morbid fascination has kept me reading the past hundred pages."

"Ah, then you have no cause for embarrassment, no matter what the novel is. Is it _The Monk_? Quite a scandalous piece."

Elizabeth gave up and with a defeated sigh pulled her arm away from his so that she could take the volume out of her coat pocket. Looking away from Darcy she handed it to him. He took it in his sadly freed hand. He much preferred to be holding Elizabeth's arm to her book.

" _Pamela_?" Darcy looked at her, fully believing that Elizabeth did not like the book which had been such a rage amongst young women so many years earlier. He grinned. "You hope some foolish Lord will marry you after repeated attempts at your virtue?"

Elizabeth turned her eyes down and bit her lip, her cheeks reddening. "You _said_ I have no cause for embarrassment, since I do not like the book."

"I also implied I thought that was merely an excuse. I see why you would not admit to reading it."

Elizabeth said, "I despise Mr. B. He is a worthless man. It speaks ill of my sex that so many of us admire such a book with such a poor model of a hero. I read it because Maria Lucas adores the book, and she wished to hear my opinion."

"Really?" Darcy blinked. He had never read it, but he knew the plot had a squire try to convince a very beautiful housemaid to become his mistress, and then when he failed to convince her to accept his offer, he married her. Before he could stop himself, Darcy glanced at his horse and said quickly, "You despise him so much for seeking to make the girl his mistress? Is that so _very_ wrong in your mind?"

"No, it is not _that_ which makes me despise him."

"You do _not_ despise him for that?"

Elizabeth stared at him. Darcy realized she could easily put a poor characterization on his asking such questions. Even though it was a discussion of literature, it was even more pointed than her earlier flirtations. He felt a fear that he would frighten her away. He opened his mouth to try to take back the question.

Elizabeth spoke first. "That alone it is not enough to generate my hatred. I disapprove, but I'd not wish to _despise_ so many gentlemen. Mr. B. did not listen when she refused. He conspired to keep her from returning to her family, he destroyed her opportunity to find another position, he read all of her mail, and eventually stole her letters so they would not reach her parents. He even hid in the closet while she—" Elizabeth clapped a hand over her mouth. "Never mind. Mr. B's defects go far beyond seeking a…mistress."

"He did what in the closet?" Many years ago Darcy had read Henry Fielding's parody, _Shamela._ It had been _licentious_ and arousing. But Darcy had thought it was mostly the satirist's exaggeration. Surely no such scenes would be in a novel that had been that widely read by young ladies.

"This conversation is quite inappropriate already — Mr. B. hid in the closet while she and the housekeeper undressed, and then once they were in bed popped out and tried to kiss her."

Elizabeth's face had turned red all the way up to her forehead and down to her chin. But she grinned at him widely, evidently pleased by having told the slightly naughty story. Darcy grinned back at her. She blushed and looked away, still smiling.

Darcy shook his head and glanced at his horse and then looked at the cows in the field they were walking along. "How was that book allowed to be so widely read by young girls?"

"Oh, that is simple." Elizabeth's voice was suddenly scholarly and enthusiastic. "If you read novels, or look at collections of plates and illustrations from the time, it is clear that manners and modes of fashion have changed greatly over the years. Now, while the looseness and flow of high-waisted gowns" — Elizabeth illustrated the modern style by touching her hand right below her breasts, where a yellow silk cord tied the sides of her coat together. Darcy's eyes had a little trouble going back to her face — "have often been spoken of as a sign of the deteriorating morality of her day, collections of Hogarth and novels such as _Tristram Shandy_ and _Pamela_ show that despite their stiffer dresses and the men's wigs and the general unnaturalness of fashion, morals were far looser then. You have already quoted a line from Shakespeare which proves the point for _his_ century."

" _Our_ morals are not terribly strict."

"Perhaps you are right; one hears such stories of the Prince Regent and nonesuch. Still, however exposed the indecent is today, it was even more exposed _then_."

"You are right. Have you read Fielding? I have read his parody of _Pamela_ , I just had no idea those scenes were in the original."

"You mean _Shamela_? I have not read it. But I did read _Tom Jones_. I do not think highly of how he jumped from one woman's bed to another while claiming to be in love with his patron's daughter." Elizabeth flushed red, and then looked down shyly. "Oh, I should not talk about that. Do say you do not despise me for speaking so forwardly about such topics. It shows a lack of delicacy. Ladies today are supposed to pretend they know nothing about any such matter. But I have read too widely to _be_ as delicate as girls of this era are intended to be."

"Miss Elizabeth, _you_ could never offend me. Besides, my uncle's plan of education for my sister was…unorthodox. Next to her you are a paragon of delicacy." Darcy's face heated at how Elizabeth quirked her eyebrow at him. "Enough of _this_ topic. I have a different subject I have meant to raise."

He pulled Elizabeth's arm closer to his side and leaned his head closer to hers. "I have a question about you — about a characteristic behavior of yours. First though, I have a confession — one which will shock and horrify you. Are you prepared?"

Elizabeth theatrically widened her eyes. "Oh, yes! I dearly love to be horrified."

"Good." Darcy spoke with assurance. "For this is particularly horrible. That night we first met at the assembly ball. Before Bingley convinced me to dance with you, I stood next to a painting. A portrait of our dear monarch — you follow so far?"

Elizabeth nodded, a smile playing on the edges of her pretty lips. "I had noticed you there. You looked most intent."

"I was very intent. But, alas, it was a face far prettier than our monarch's that I studied. Though, I fear, less regal. Yes — from your blush I see you suspect. My study was your face, and an interesting object it was. Have I horrified you by confessing that I am such a poor subject of his Majesty that I would allow the face of a beautiful woman to distract me from the contemplation of Him?"

She pressed a hand against one of her bright red cheeks. "You should not flatter me so — and I do not believe it. I do not — you are too proud an Englishman to let even a very, very beautiful woman" — she grinned at him, with a twisted smile — "distract from the contemplation of that face which has led us, His children, for so many years."

"Ah, I see you missed a key part of my confession. Was yours _merely_ a beautiful face, the old lined features of our monarch would have drawn me. However — and here we come to what I wish to ask you — it was the play of emotion that entranced me. A portrait cannot change, not even one of his Majesty. You sat with a huff, and you had this expression of sad melancholy. It made me wish to comfort you. But you then closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall, and this soft, content smile crossed your face. It made me wonder what image played in your mind to bring it. And then, a frown grew to mar your features. However, as I watched, you opened your eyes and straightened with what seemed to be an iron bar of determination. Then you pulled your fingers into a delicate fist and shook it at whatever thought troubled you. I lost my concentration upon you then, for Bingley demanded my attention, but I cannot curse him for it, for I did dance with you as a result."

Her eyes were wide and her mouth open with a smile. "You watched me that closely? Why — I remember sitting there."

"So I ask, what thought went through your mind? I have seen you sit to the side of a room with a similar smile twice since. What are you thinking?"

Elizabeth blushed and shook her head. "No, no. It is too private, too embarrassing. I cannot say."

Darcy flashed her his dimpled smile, throwing all of his enthusiasm and curiosity into the effort. "Please, please. The curiosity — you must save me from it."

"Mr. Darcy, that is a very charming smile. Does it usually gain you your object with females?"

Darcy nodded and flashed a different grin, this one smug and self-satisfied. "Yes, usually. Please do tell me, I promise not to laugh _very_ hard."

Elizabeth giggled. "And if I do not wish to be laughed at, at all?"

"Nay, do not say that. You would not be so cruel — you have said that you dearly love to laugh, I cannot believe you would deny to the rest of the world opportunities to laugh."

"I do see your argument — but I have never claimed to be even or just in all things. While I may enjoy a laugh that does not mean my vanity will survive being the object of one."

"Yes, but is not vanity a vice? If being laughed at can kill your vanity, would that not be beneficial to you?"

Elizabeth laughed again. "You make a compelling argument. However, to no avail." Her face turned serious, and she looked Darcy in the eye. "It really is a matter too private to speak of."

"I understand." Darcy realized his voice was little flat. He wanted to know, and…he wanted Elizabeth to trust him far enough that she would tell him anything.

Elizabeth pursed her lips and shook her head. She poked Darcy in the arm. "Don't be like that. You look like a child denied a sweet. You can't expect to know everything."

"Perhaps you could tell me something else about yourself, something less private and less embarrassing — but still embarrassing?"

"Why don't you tell me something about yourself? And then, if it impresses me far enough, I'll reveal some nibbet of the deep secrets that lie within my head."

"Fair." He wanted to tell her about himself. To prove that she could tell him anything. It was an odd emotion: Darcy had never felt such a desire before. It frightened him a little. He wanted to tell her about how his father died, about his faded memories of his mother, about his uncle, about his cousins, about how he met Bingley.

Things he had never told anyone else.

Despite the light teasing tone of their conversation, he suddenly felt serious.

"Do not think too hard on it," Elizabeth spoke, "we are only just becoming friends."

"Is not exchanging intimate secrets how close friendships are established? I think — Miss Elizabeth, there is something about you — something in your manner. I spoke truly when I said that since I saw you that evening I have wished to understand you better. You and I shall become dear friends. Only…I am reticent. I am not in the habit of presenting my secrets. I do not share myself easily."

"Neither do I."

"But you speak so easily."

"As do you — I fancy myself a good observer of character, you are flirtatious and forward in your conversation. The opposite of reticent, but I can tell that much of what you say is learned patterns that only play on the surface, it is not who you truly are — oh, do not become offended. It is a very charming surface."

"You are right." Darcy stopped walking and grinned. "Aha — I know what secret of my past to reveal, and it is quite embarrassing. Though I am not sure if it is so very private."

"I am all ears — and a mouth, which I use to inform you that the rest of me is ears."

"As a university student, when I attended parties, I almost never talked to women — I was not terribly fond of the men either, I fancied myself a scholar then, and most men seemed numbskulls who only spoke about hunting."

"I have gained the impression that, among your other talents, you are quite the sportsman."

"And I have, through introspection, made the discovery that boys of twenty are in general numbskulls."

Elizabeth laughed. "And so you would not wish to be judged by the habits and beliefs of your former numbskull self."

"I would not talk to women, and when I was forced to I inevitably insulted them, on accident. I habitually stood at the edge of rooms scowling and thinking about Latin."

Elizabeth giggled again, turning her pert nose up delightfully.

"When my cousins visited me during my second term at Cambridge they discovered this awful habit. Now both are charming men — though I assure you, they are shorter than I am. They consider easy conversation with women as a key accomplishment of a gentleman. I disagreed. So Richard and Derwent wrestled me to the ground and sat on me until I changed my mind. Embarrassed by defeat, I gracefully accepted my lessons."

Darcy stood back and held his hands wide gesturing at himself. "What charm you perceive in me, is a result of their teaching."

Elizabeth clapped. "An excellent tale — should I ever meet your cousins; I must thank them on behalf of my sex. Your height and noble mien would make you well worth looking at no matter what, but without those conversational skills, I fear you would not be half the paragon of masculine perfection that you are. I do have one complaint, while that story is embarrassing, you promised a story that would be _quite_ embarrassing."

He flashed Elizabeth his dimpled grin until she blushed and looked away. "But I have not finished yet. The smile, the one you complimented as very charming, does it change your opinion to know that I spent some four hours grinning at then Captain Richard Fitzwilliam again and again until my other cousin, the Viscount Derwent, at long last pronounced it satisfactory and demanded I spend ten minutes in front of the mirror practicing it each morning for the next month, or else he'd box my ears in."

Elizabeth laughed; it was a happy warm sound. "I entirely withdraw my complaint. Show me the smile again."

He did and Elizabeth immediately laughed. Darcy waggled his eyebrows at her, and she laughed harder. When her amusement flagged he grinned at her again and she giggled once more.

"I fear," she said, "I'll never see you smile that way again without laughing. I cannot decide if the effect is ruined or improved."

"Now that I have satisfied you, it is your turn to tell me a story about yourself."

Elizabeth bobbed her head. "It is. You have earned something. I hardly know what to say though — I fear I have nothing so amusing which springs to mind."

"I don't wish amusing. I wish true. But though, if your tale is amusing, so much the better. My cousins have been like brothers to me since my father died. Tell me about something you have done with your sister — our first conversation was about how much you care for her. Why?"

"You want me to talk about Jane?" Elizabeth raised an arch eyebrow. "She is perfect after all."

"No." Darcy shook his head. "I want you to talk about yourself _with_ her. Excellent as I am sure she is; your sister alone does not interest me at all."

Darcy could see in Elizabeth's blush and the pleased tilt of her lips that, though she clearly adored her sister, being told that she was of far greater interest affected her. Miss Bennet's features and figure were nearly perfect, while Elizabeth's were only very fetching — no doubt Elizabeth was used to Jane receiving greater consideration from men and her awful marriage obsessed mother.

It made Darcy sad for Elizabeth. It did not seem to have hurt her, but she deserved to be the first.

She _was_ the first for him.

"Jane, Jane always — she always thinks the very best of everyone; she always does the right thing. Not like me, I ran from being too ladylike and proper. _She_ would have thought well of Squire Booby, not due to blindness but simply because she believes the best of everyone. When things go wrong — she was always the one — when Father was dying, Jane was only thirteen. Mama retreated to her room when Papa took sick and did not come down until Mr. Collins — the father of the present Mr. Collins — arrived to take possession of the house. I sobbed and sobbed, and refused to believe it could be real. Once Father died, I ran about everywhere and hid from the nurse and Mama and everyone. I climbed trees and let my dresses become filthy. Jane was left alone to make sure everyone was cared for and the servants were managed. Lydia was only five. I felt so awful for Jane when I realized how alone she'd been, and how I should have helped."

"You were only a child yourself, twelve?"

"I was eleven. I know what you think, it is very true, Mama should have managed. But she has never managed well."

"No. I dare say she does not."

Elizabeth flushed with embarrassment.

Darcy grabbed her arm and squeezed it. "I should not speak against her. I do wish you had someone to protect you. What she said to you was not right."

"I do not mind. I really do not." Her clear brown eyes looked into his warmly. "I thank you for taking my part."

"That is the second time you have said you do not mind about a serious matter. Perhaps you should mind. I mind for you."

"It would not do a morsel of good if I let her words hurt me. I swore after her bankruptcy, when she…she screamed at me and Jane for a full hour, blaming us for not marrying… Jane had only received kind words from her before. It was devastating the way Jane's face fell when she realized what Mama could say. I'd always known she could be cruel, but Jane never believes ill of anyone. But she now knows about Mama."

Of course Mrs. Bennet had screamed at Elizabeth. Such tirades were likely to be common if she could say something of that sort in front of strangers. Darcy asked softly, "What did you swear?"

"I swore I would never let anything she said make me unhappy. And I don't. Life is so beautiful, every day, friends, books, cold afternoons, conversations with tall handsome gentlemen who are a little too flirtatious, but very kind. I love life, and I will not let Mama make me unhappy."

Was he very kind? Something twisted in Darcy's stomach. He needed to live up to the trust in her eyes. But he did not know what that meant he should do.

Elizabeth added, "I should not have told the story. It is quite improper to tell it. I should not expose my mother so, but you… It is so natural and easy to talk to you."

"We are to be the best of friends, are we not?"

"Yes. We are. So then there is nothing wrong with me saying so much. Please know, she was not so bad before Papa died."

"Did she love your father so much?"

"No — they were, it is hard for a child to tell, but I remember them barely being fond of each other. She mourned that he left her with so little money, not the loss of _him_."

Darcy mumbled as he pulled his horse alongside with them, "My father was much the opposite."

Elizabeth squeezed his wrist. "I…I can tell it still hurts you. That you miss your mother. And your father."

"I was a little older than you were when your father died. It was a year apart, twelve and thirteen. But, my uncle was the best of guardians. He…he has always dedicated himself to ensuring I received the education he believed would make me happiest. And…what you said about living life to the fullest…that is what he always tells me to do."

"I think you do."

"I hope so. But sometimes…it is hard to know what I should do." Darcy looked at the path pensively. Elizabeth squeezed his wrist kindly. He looked back at her sweet and striking face. She had such pretty black eyebrows and long eyelashes. Such perfect brown eyes. She did not break their gaze quickly.

Darcy at last said, "Do tell me more about Jane. What happened when your mother's money ran out?"

"We went to London. It was us two sent there because Mama wanted us to find husbands. We were happy for a while. But Jane is becoming desperate. No matter how beautiful Jane is, young tradesmen want a wife who brings capital."

"Did she have no serious suitors?" Darcy tilted his head.

"One — Mr. Thomas. He was almost fifty and a widower with several sons. Jane had no affection for him. He didn't want to understand Jane or care for her. He only wanted to possess such a beautiful wife. Lydia's marriage made him abandon Jane on the point of offering. I was happy when we returned from London, because…she would not have married him, not when she had no affection for him, but I worry for my sister. I am glad she does not have the guilt refusing would have given her."

"You think she should have refused. You cannot think — she will not marry well. Not without money, and with your new connections it is even more impossible."

"Jane will marry someone who she can love, and who sincerely cares for her. I must believe and hope that. I must. She is too good and sweet. She was not meant to be unhappy."

"Fate is not always kind. There is great unfairness, injustice — that your sister too deserves better does not change her situation. Hope will not bring a suitor."

"I _know_. But I must hope. I _know_ that every single member of England's gentry is a fool. You need not preach acceptance of _that_ reality to me." Elizabeth's eyes flashed brightly. "Jane is perfect, and only a fool would ignore her due to her connections and lack of money."

Darcy opened his mouth. He should not have said as much as he already had.

Elizabeth slumped her shoulders. "Forgive me. I should not rage so. And each person has a duty to look after their own interests first. But I am worried. So worried. Oh I never admit it even to myself, but she might never marry, and I do not think she can be happy as a permanent dependent."

"Do not apologize. I should not poke at a tender point. We do not know what the future brings. I can hope she will marry very well indeed. If only your sister had _some_ money."

"Yes — poverty is an even greater sin than being Lydia's sister. Responsible young men feel they must have some money. I cannot blame them. It is difficult to establish a career. Oh, I sometimes feel as though I would do _anything_ if I could get Jane a dowry."

Anything?

Darcy immediately thought that her moral compunctions might be silenced if he provided her sister with enough money to find a man to marry.

But that would not do at all for him. He didn't _want_ her to ignore her compunctions because she cared for Jane more than herself. He wanted her to see such concerns as superstitious social hypocrisy. If she agreed to be his mistress to help Jane but felt guilty and dirty… He didn't want her to feel guilty.

He wanted her to be happy. He couldn't touch her unless she _truly_ wanted him to.

At the way Darcy froze Elizabeth hurriedly said, "I don't mean I would actually do _anything_. I would not take up highway robbery, or poison off someone's rich old uncle."

"Then what _would_ you do?"

Elizabeth blushed very red and shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. "My mind goes in quite silly directions — and I will never tell you what thought made me blush — but it was quite absurd. I do not know, perhaps it is merely an expression."

"Suppose we took up highway robbery together. How much would you need to steal before there was enough for your sister?"

"Oh, I would not be so greedy — really. When I fantasize about it…I give her five thousand pounds. It is what Mama wasted. It would not be above the station she was born into." Elizabeth added hurriedly, "I know that must be but a trifle to you — but to someone in Jane's position it would mean everything."

"Five thousand is more than a _trifle_ for me. But not very much. You are not extravagantly greedy in your fantasies."

"Should I be?"

Elizabeth looked at him directly with her eyebrows raised. Darcy looked aside. "Thank you for telling me of your sister."

Elizabeth's smile when she replied was soft and sad. "I do…I really do understand her situation. But she was meant to be a mother and a wife."

"What about your own situation? The scandal affects you as much."

"Oh. I am not selfish. I will not think of myself in this case. Besides, I can be happy anywhere."

"You do not expect to marry? Are not family and children part of most girl's dreams? I beg you not to reply with your quip that a short, bald man will marry you at last. What do you really hope?"

He peered at her closely, waiting for a reply.

Elizabeth frowned thoughtfully, nibbling at her lower lip. "My dreams were never focused on marriage. Jane wants that. But for me…so many marriages I see are unhappy, or just tolerable. I cannot stand the thought of such intimacy without great affection. I would far prefer to remain a spinster, so long as I am a spinster _aunt,_ than to marry without the deepest affection. I know women are expected to only feel complete once married, but I enjoy my life as it is at present. I am completely happy."

"You cannot want to stay…" Darcy hesitated. He didn't want to poke at her again. "I am glad that you are happy."

"Mr. Darcy, despite the doubt in your voice, I _really_ am happy. I love the countryside, I adore my friends and my sister, and I have my books. I do not need material things."

"It is not…material things are not of so great importance. But while you are brave and determined, over time… I do not think life in Mr. Phillip's house will seem so palatable forever."

A frown marred her face. "Well, there is nothing I can do on the matter. So I'll not let it make me unhappy."

Darcy nearly said: _What if there was something you could do. Something that seems wrong, but really is not, not in any_ important _way._ She cared too much for her friends and sister. They were the center of her life.

But she could not stay in her uncle's house forever. And he wanted her more than ever.

Darcy shook all those thoughts away. He should focus on the present. "I hope you are never unhappy. Never. Enough somberness. Miss Elizabeth, let us go towards happier topics." He grinned at her, and at first hesitatingly and then happily, Elizabeth grinned back. "Choose the next subject."


	8. Chapter 8

Jane could not recall ever looking so well as she had these past weeks.

She sat in Charlotte's dressing room at Longbourn while Charlotte's maid did the final touches to her hair. Lizzy grinned at her and Charlotte thoughtfully tapped her cheek. Jane knew she always looked well, but she saw in the mirror that today there was an extra glow about her cheeks and eyes. The yellow curls hung neatly about her cheeks and ears and lilies had been woven into her hair forming a small halo.

Elizabeth cried, "My Jane looks perfect!"

Charlotte nodded at Elizabeth's enthusiasm, tapped her cheek for few seconds more, then she clapped her hands enthusiasm. "Mary, bring my blue cashmere shawl — the one Mr. Collins bought last time we were in London. I am certain Miss Bingley has never seen me wear it."

They were going to a party held by Charlotte's parents at Lucas Lodge, and as had become their habit since Bingley entered the community, Elizabeth and Jane had gone to their friend's house to dress. Charlotte thought there was some hope that she could catch Mr. Bingley, and Jane made no pretense to herself: she wished to catch him.

It was not delicate or proper, but she did not care. She would use any trick she could think of to convince him to marry her.

Charlotte was not romantic. She believed that a woman ought to try for the best catch she could find, and then fall in love at her leisure following the wedding. Jane could not let herself fall in love with Mr. Bingley, because she would end heartbroken if she did.

The shawl was brought and arranged in pretty folds around Jane's shoulders. It was very soft, and Jane ran her fingers over the luxuriant material. The color matched her complexion perfectly. She had had such a shawl for her own once. But they had sold it to cover a debt to one of Meryton's shopkeepers. She knew she should not lust after pretty things, but Jane very much missed her old life before the money ended.

Elizabeth suddenly squeezed her hard about the shoulders. "Aren't you glad I made you talk to Bingley?"

Jane schooled her voice, reminding herself she could not let herself be in love with him. "Yes. I do like Mr. Bingley very much, and I am glad we are friends. He is such an amiable gentleman."

Elizabeth bit her lip and appeared as though she wished that Jane had said something more passionate.

Jane dearly loved her conversations with Mr. Bingley. She had never liked a gentleman so much before. It would be so easy to fall in love with _him_.

Bingley was so kind; when she had lost half of Elizabeth's money at the card party, he happily gave her a dozen shillings to make it up. It had been improper for her to take the money from him, but being proper had never helped her.

"Oh, I am so happy!" Elizabeth squeezed Jane again and exclaimed, "Everything shall turn out well. I know it. These days I feel so happy, as though nothing can go wrong."

The reflection of the two sisters made a very pretty picture in the mirror. Jane accepted that her acquaintance with Mr. Bingley would end in nothing. Even if it was becoming hard not to hope, just a little.

Jane worried for Elizabeth. Elizabeth did not even realize she was falling in love with Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth had always been the strong one, invulnerable and able to survive anything. But what would happen when Elizabeth realized she had fallen in love, but Mr. Darcy was just playing?

Charlotte stood now that they were all dressed and ready. "I talked to my father yesterday, and later in the evening we will clear the drawing room and make Mary play some dances."

Elizabeth clapped enthusiastically. "Delightful idea. There are never enough dances. We shall make sure Jane and Bingley dance for a quite long time."

"And you with Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth laughed and blushed.

"Also, Lizzy," Charlotte continued, " _You_ shall play a little. I know that you are out of practice, but you appear to good advantage when singing."

"Do you think?" Elizabeth grinned and raised her eyebrows. "But I am not trying to impress anyone."

"That is no reason not to impress _him_."

Elizabeth laughed.

Dressed and beautiful, the group from Longbourn walked across the quarter-mile of fields to Lucas Lodge. It was a pleasant afternoon, with a low wind that did not make their hair blowsy. While she did not walk near as much as Elizabeth's hour every morning, Charlotte was a walker, and she preferred not to call her carriage when unnecessary. Even though _they_ had no entail to worry about _and_ a son, the Collinses were quite frugal.

If Mama and Papa had been like that, her life would not be so wrong.

Mr. Collins held his wife's arm, and he spoke in his slow but amiable manner about what he would do to prepare the garden for the next spring over the winter months. Charlotte nodded. His manners were still excessively studied — though Mr. Collins had improved enormously since coming into the estate and marrying. He was not at all handsome like Mr. Bingley.

Mr. Bingley was too perfect for her to have any hope of it ending happily. In the future, if she ever saw another opportunity like Mr. Collins or Mr. Thomas, she would seize it.

Mary walked at Jane's side, with her severe bun pulling the skin of her forehead back tight. It reduced what little beauty she could claim to nothing, but Mary never wished advice from Jane or Elizabeth on such matters. She said little, and what she did say was about how much effort she'd put in of late to mastering drawing. In the past years, since they had lived in different houses, Mary and Jane had grown even further apart. They did not share interests.

Elizabeth smiled and hummed under her breath.

She was in such a high mood. Jane was so glad Lizzy had returned to Longbourn with her. Their life with the Gardiners had been more pleasant, and Mr. Gardiner did not hate them like Mr. Phillips did. Jane thought Mama also hated them, or at least Elizabeth. If she were separated from Elizabeth by some accident of fate, would they grow different the way she and Mary had?

Jane vowed to herself that no matter what occurred, they would always feel so close.

They were effusively greeted by Sir William. Mama had already come to the party with Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, and she looked over Jane and Elizabeth. After a careful scrutiny Mrs. Bennet said, "Hmmmph. You look very pretty, Jane. Nothing shall ever come of it. If only you had met Mr. Bingley before Lydia ruined us all. Lizzy, your curls are out of arrangement. Make _some_ effort. Even though it will be useless."

Soon officers and other guests began arriving. There was plenty of pleasant conversation and handsome redcoats. There was something dashing about a uniform, even though many officers in the militia were undisciplined and poor.

The room filled with the happy din of conversation. The Lucases had crammed the punch table with excellent wines and little snacks. Sir William loved to entertain, not to impress his neighbors, but so that he could see them all happy and conversing with each other.

The mahogany wood of the piano gleamed in bright candlelight from the chandeliers. Mary had already sat down at it, preferring not to talk much in a crowd of this sort, and she was softly playing on the ivory keys some simple air that made a fine accompaniment to conversation.

Then _he_ arrived with Mr. Darcy.

Bingley wore that close fitted blue coat he'd worn at the assembly when he danced with her. The play of his face and eyes as he looked around and then brightened on seeing her entranced Jane. He and Mr. Darcy immediately walked to where Jane and Elizabeth stood with several officers. Jane knew she looked exceptionally well, especially in Charlotte's fine shawl. She smiled brightly at Bingley, instead of checking herself over a last time.

Bingley took her hand and said with warmth and enthusiasm, "Hello, hello. Miss Bennet, I am so pleased to see you again."

Happiness bubbled in her breast at his eager manner. "And _I_ am very pleased to see you." Charlotte had said she should try to show _more_ than she felt if she hoped catch him. Jane fought her natural inclination to hide her feelings and bit her lip and blushed, saying awkwardly, "It would have been a…it would be impossible to enjoy the party without you."

Bingley almost frowned at that. Jane wondered if she was too forward. He would just leave if he thought she had any hopes. He was always so careful to not talk beyond the limits of a polite conversation. He always went to talk to someone else after twenty minutes.

In a rush Jane added, "That is too say, Charlotte plans for us to dance later tonight, and _you_ are a better dancer than anyone else. You have a mastery of the art. Elegant. I mean nothing else."

Bingley brightened. "Of course. And I shall be delighted to partner with you."

Darcy said something to Elizabeth, and she laughed with a pealing ring. Mr. Darcy had a self-satisfied smirk. The officers they had been speaking with before looked annoyed at how the new gentlemen had seized the attention of the pretty girls. Jane hurriedly addressed a remark to Captain Denny, who smiled and replied amiably. Jane felt her anxiety for Elizabeth again. Her sister was too happy.

Darcy _seemed_ an honorable gentleman who would not flirt so much with one unmarried girl if he had no serious intentions. Maybe there was some hope.

Like clockwork, after twenty minutes Bingley left to talk with other acquaintances. Jane felt a small hole grow in her stomach as she watched him from the corner of her eye. He looked so fine and the back of his jacket fit tightly about him as he talked to John Lucas and Mrs. Long.

This was Lydia's fault.

Damn the slut.

Jane tried to push her sudden desire to find Lydia and scream and scream at her away. Jane wanted to be happy and herself. Elizabeth would be shocked if she knew what she'd just thought.

Darcy continued to attend on Lizzy, his handsome face sporting a real smile, not that perfect dimpled look he showed to every woman, but something that only appeared when Lizzy teased him. Maybe Darcy wouldn't break her sister's heart.

Jane knew that her features and skin were more perfect than Lizzy's, but there was a light and liveliness in Elizabeth that she didn't have. If one of them were to marry so very well, despite everything, it was much more likely to be Lizzy. Jane liked that. Her sister deserved every happiness.

Mr. Darcy's gaze showed he was entranced. He could see what made Lizzy so special and dear. But Jane was no fool. Such things rarely mattered. Great gentlemen never marry the pretty sisters of someone like Lydia. Mrs. Dirt.

Maybe she _should_ think horrific and indecent thoughts about Lydia. She deserved them.

Jane smiled serenely and engaged in friendly conversation with Denny and Carter, while Lizzy and Mr. Darcy went elsewhere and started talking to Charlotte.

Eventually Jane decided she could look to talk with Bingley for another half of an hour. Bingley was talking to Elizabeth, Charlotte and Mr. Darcy. Captain Denny followed her.

Darcy said, "I am not near so radical as my uncle, but I do think women should be able to own their own property after their marriage."

"What does your uncle's radicalism entail?" Elizabeth asked. She clapped her hands. "Let me guess: he thinks married _men_ should no longer be allowed to own property, as women naturally worry more for children than men, so we are less likely to waste and ruin a fortune."

"There are women who care nothing for their children, and men who care a great deal, so the argument does not hold."

Elizabeth laughed. "Very true. But what is your uncle's response to your reasonable rebuttal?"

"I am afraid you mistook his position. While my uncle wants married women to have property rights, he does _not_ think they should be denied to married men."

"Shocking. That is depressingly unradical. I could name a dozen prominent men who propose the same."

"Yes. I agree. I was most disappointed, I confess, to discover he did not think himself incompetent to manage his estates by reason of marriage."

"Does he not have a high opinion of the state?"

"No, he does. So I suppose it was not a shocking discovery on my part, but it still disappointed me _enormously_."

Charlotte was grinning at the verbal play between Elizabeth and Darcy. Bingley looked slightly bored. Jane felt confused. It sounded like they were talking nonsense. Still they looked pleased.

Jane asked Mr. Bingley, "Can you explain what this conversation is about?"

Bingley laughed and smiled brightly at her, "No, I cannot. Can you follow your sister's mind? For I certainly fail to. It is good to see Darcy have a chance to argue with someone like her."

"I apologize." Darcy nodded his head to Jane and Bingley. "I do know certain topics are not of interest to everyone. Bingley despises disputes. But I assure you, Miss Bennet, he is an excellent man otherwise."

Jane smiled back. "Oh, I do not doubt that. And as I am not fond of such myself, I think we shall suit nicely."

She then blushed at how forward that had been. But Bingley brightened instead of looking wary, the way he had when the evening began.

Bingley said to Jane, "It is deuced good fortune you came just now. I suspect they would have continued in a like manner for a half hour, and they talk so quickly, I would not have dared interrupt."

Jane had forgotten that Captain Denny had followed her. He exclaimed, "I wish to hear. How is Mr. Darcy's uncle so radical?"

Everyone stared at him. He added in an aggressive tone, "I've heard about Lord Matlock from a friend. I heard he is an atheist and wants to kill all of the clergy, like the French did."

Darcy drew himself up haughtily, as though defending his uncle, the earl, to a mere captain in the militia was beneath him. Jane was impressed with how well he managed a look of arrogance. Every time _she'd_ talked with him he was smiling and friendly. Though despite his politeness, he had no _real_ interest in her, except when he asked about Elizabeth.

Denny flushed and looked between Jane and Elizabeth. He obviously wanted to impress the women by challenging Darcy, but knew he was failing.

Jane wanted to make everything calm again. She said, "What does your uncle think, Mr. Darcy? Since I am sure he is no atheist, and as for killing all the vicars." Jane tittered nervously. "Your friend must have been funning with you, Captain Denny. No good Englishman would suggest that."

Darcy shrugged. "His radical notion is that delicacy in a female is a positive evil. He educated my sister with the intention of eradicating all traces of it. He mostly succeeded."

Elizabeth blinked at that. "I am fascinated. I'm not at all sure that _is_ a bad policy. I hope to meet her someday."

"Georgiana would adore you."

Charlotte tapped her chin. "To judge the wisdom, we would need more details."

"Do not let Darcy give you a false idea," Bingley said. "Miss Darcy is a lovely girl, accomplished, clever, and sweet. But she can say the most disconcerting things you would never expect to hear from a gentlewoman."

Denny exclaimed, "Mr. Darcy, if I were you, I would despise my uncle for what he did to a woman so closely related to you. It does not speak well that you do not show more concern for your sister's welfare."

Darcy sneered down at him again.

Bingley said with his sunny smile, "Come now. Let's not argue. I hate arguments. Miss Bennet, is the weather hereabouts always so fine this time of year?"

"Not _always_." Jane smiled, relieved the conversation was moving away from such conflict. "But it is this nice _often_."

"I love the sun, and the rides, and the hunts. You have always lived here, so you must not realize how simply lovely Meryton and the area about is."

Jane smiled. "Oh, I do realize. But we are delighted when new families enter the neighborhood and see it for themselves."

Captain Denny refused to let it go. "Miss Bennet, a woman so perfectly delicate as yourself must agree it is necessary women should be protected and guarded. And that Miss Darcy's method of education is very wrong."

Jane remembered how Charlotte had always said it was absurd a woman must marry to gain a respectable establishment, so it did not surprise her when Charlotte angrily exclaimed, "That is foolishness. Men do not always protect women, and women should be given the tools to make their own way in the world. I was fortunate in my marriage, but I am as capable as any man, more capable than most. Society is most unfair towards women."

"Society treats _us_ just as unfairly." Denny spoke passionately, "We are required to fight in wars, we are required to work. The law favors women."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "The law? Where in the entire code does the law favor women? Recall the conversation began with noting that if a woman has any money, it becomes her husband's immediately."

"That is only because men can manage land and property so much better. But that matter does _appear_ to favor men, I will confess. However, a woman can sue for breach of promise if a man leaves an engagement, while a man can do no such thing. Society demands gentlemen never retreat once their honor is engaged."

Darcy said, "Men should be forced to marry once they have given their pledge. It protects women. You _claimed_ that was important. A jilted woman loses an important part of her youth, and many persons will believe they had taken liberties together. The ability to sue protects her. Besides, while rare, men _can_ sue for breach of promise."

Several voices went up together, "They can, how absurd!"

Bingley exclaimed, "Any _true_ gentleman will honor an engagement as a matter of honor. Viscount Wellington, when he returned from India and married the woman he'd formed an attachment to ten years earlier. Have you heard what he said?" Bingley's brown eyes caught Jane's. "I swear this is true. Upon seeing her again, he cried out, _By Jove, Kitty's grown ugly_. But he married her anyways. Straightaways. After she'd waited so long, it would have been viciously wrong to spurn her _then_. No gentleman would."

Denny said with a frustrated expostulation, "It is a deuced unfair system. Making men marry ugly women because they'd promised to ten years earlier. A hero like Wellington deserves better than _that_."

Denny walked away. At last.

Charlotte clapped her hands. "Enough of _this_ subject. Lizzy, the piano is open, would you play for us a little?"

Elizabeth jumped up, and said, "Mr. Darcy, I shall need you to turn the pages. And then afterwards we will have Mary play a jig for everyone to dance to."

Jane frowned when Mr. Darcy sat on the stool next to Elizabeth. He was just an edge too close to her.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Bingley interrupted Jane's concern, "dashed good evening. But poor Denny, making a fool of himself trying to offend Darcy. Darcy will never be bothered by such a thing."

Jane smiled at Bingley, "I believe Denny hoped to impress me."

Maybe the reminder of how other men looked at her would make him a little jealous. Possessively so, not unpleasantly so.

"Did not work. Not at all."

Jane smiled placidly at Bingley.

"He _didn't_ impress you did he?"

"Not at all." Jane decided to try laying her hand, just for an instant, on Bingley's forearm. But she blushed and became too embarrassed before her hand reached halfway. She dropped it back to the side. It was too improper. She wasn't supposed to do things like that.

Bingley exclaimed, "You are blushing! You can't find that coxcomb attractive. He looks well in regimentals, but he's no air to him. Hardly a sort of fellow to strike the fancy of a sensible girl. And…" Bingley lowered his voice, "I should not say it, but he does not strike me as terribly clever."

Jane smiled brightly at Bingley. "Of course I don't find _him_ attractive. Though I do think you should not make fun of him."

"Oh." Bingley shuffled his feet. "Of course not. He's a peacock, no substance. I'd had no idea men could sue for breach of promise. Never would have guessed. But Darcy would not make a joke in that tone. He wasn't angry though, just amused."

"He looked very arrogant. He is usually so kind." Jane glanced at Darcy again. He was turning a page for Elizabeth, while listening intently. "Is he kind?"

"Darcy is the best man in the world. Nothing he wouldn't do for a friend. Honorable, a superb rider, clever… Why do you ask?"

Jane smiled, "Lizzy just likes him very much."

"Yes. They do talk a great deal. But no harm in that."

"But…" Jane felt anxiety for her sister, but didn't know what to say. "He would not…despite her sharp mind, she still has a tender heart, and if he…"

"Oh do not worry about _that_. Mr. Darcy would never take advantage of a woman. I am sure they are just friendly. Do you think _she_ has started to think too much of his attentions? I will tell my friend to speak with her less."

"No. No. Do not mention anything. I only wished to hear that he was a good man. Lizzy would be quite annoyed with me if you said anything. She does not expect anything. I just wished to be assured he would not intentionally hurt her. We understand our positions very well. Both of us. It _is_ quite a disgrace, what Lydia did."

"It is deuced unfair I say. You should be judged for yourself. My sister begged me to speak no more with you after she found out, and I thought she was right at first, since people tend to look down on me a little since, while I have so much money, it _is_ from trade. I must keep up appearances, you know. Darcy convinced me though it is no matter, since you are accepted in the neighborhood."

"I know." Jane frowned.

"Now what is the matter?"

"You should know; we are only half accepted. If the Collinses and Lucases did not still sponsor us, we would not be noticed — they are the best and most charitable people in England — no one else is intimate with us anymore."

"Oh." Bingley pulled at his coat sleeve, bringing it down a little further over his hand. Then he brightened and shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me at all. This is not London, and those excellent people are among the leaders here. I am very glad for the kindness they have shown you. You can trust that you and Miss Elizabeth will _also_ be invited to any event at Netherfield."

"Thank you." Jane smiled unevenly at him. She understood very well the need to act as everyone demanded. It was why he would never consider marrying her. But his kindness was still wonderful.

Not long after Mary and Elizabeth exchanged places at the piano, and Mary played a lively Irish tune for them all to dance to.

They turned around and around in a pattern of four couples taking up most of the floor, always smiling at each other. It was a house party, so she and Bingley danced together for nearly an hour.

Jane smiled brightly at him the whole time, and he smiled back.

 **AN: to the people who are leaving reviews that seem surprised this book has been published elsewhere and they read it, you probably read it on Amazon, as you would know if you checked the authors notes. If you read it elsewhere, please send me a link to where, because I really, really would like to know if I've been plagiarized.**


	9. Chapter 9

Elizabeth whistled happily as she walked to Longbourn with Mama and Jane. The Collinses were holding a dinner party, and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley would be present.

Elizabeth had gotten Mr. Darcy's measure — part of him still was that boy who would much rather stand on the side and scowl while thinking of Latin.

Something pulled them together. Elizabeth's reasons for enjoying his company were obvious. The surprise was that such a great gentleman wished to know her better.

As they walked Mama berated Jane about what she should do to attract Mr. Bingley — though of course, Mama added, none of it would work, not after Lydia, the horrid girl, ruined all of our futures.

Elizabeth's thoughts went back to Darcy, and she blushed. Elizabeth looked at the hedges they walked past to hide her face from Mama. She would never forget Mr. Darcy's voice as he described how he'd watched her that night at the assembly ball. He was flirting with her, but he also meant it.

Elizabeth pretended for a moment she had a dowry and good connections. Even if it was just ten thousand pounds she would charm Darcy by teasing him until he laughed and they fell in love, because even though Jane was more beautiful, _he_ liked her better.

Nonsense, of course. Nothing of the sort would ever happen to her. Maybe if she _had_ been as beautiful as Jane…

"Lizzy! Listen to me when I speak to you." When Elizabeth turned her head, Mrs. Bennet frowned in disgust. "Ungrateful girl. After I've done everything for you, I spent all my fortune upon you and Jane, I convinced my brother and sister to take you in, yet you pay no attention to me. It is your fault Jane did not marry before Lydia ruined everything."

"What were you saying, Mama? I shall pay attention now."

"Bingley's friend — that Mr. Darcy — he pays a great deal of attention to you. He talks with you so much, and he danced with you at Lucas Lodge. But you are too disagreeable — are you doing everything you can to attract him, since at last a gentleman is paying attention to you?"

"Mama! Mr. Darcy would never think about marrying me. His uncle is an earl. We are only friends, and he likes my conversation more than my person."

Mrs. Bennet curled her lip up in a disgusted sneer. "Do not be absurd — no young man only wishes to talk with a pretty girl. I know he won't _marry_ you. Lydia made it so none of you will marry. But—"

Mrs. Bennet looked side to side and seeing that no one was near clenched Elizabeth's wrist to pull her to a stop. "I wrote Mrs. Gardiner about him, she is from the same part of the country as he. Mr. Darcy's family has a scandalous reputation — he wants you to be his mistress — encourage him, touch yourself and him when he is near, as if by accident, repin your dress so it covers less, bat your eyes — I daresay Lydia could give you some advice — seduce him."

"Mama!" Elizabeth had never felt so aghast in her life. She looked at Jane whose eyes were wide and whose mouth hung open.

"Ungrateful girl! Think about me. Mr. Darcy is as rich as a lord. If he liked you enough, he would be generous. You could help _me_ then. It is time you stopped only thinking of yourself. If you were ever going to marry anyone better than a workman like Lydia, you already would have. I'd far rather see you Mr. Darcy's mistress than a Mrs. John Manure."

Elizabeth stalked off as fast as she could, cursing under her breath as she opened distance from her mother. It didn't even surprise Elizabeth that her mother wanted to sell her body for money.

How dare Mama think the only reason a gentleman would wish to be friends with her was because he hoped to ruin her? How dare Mama suggest she sell herself like a whore?

In a few minutes Elizabeth reached Longbourn. Before entering she forced her face into calmness and smiled to greet Charlotte and Mary.

Charlotte took her hand in greeting and said, "Lizzy, I'm so happy to see you, where are Jane and Mrs. Bennet? — Goodness, what is the matter?"

"Nothing." Elizabeth thought her voice was quite cheery, and she still smiled.

Charlotte raised an eyebrow and shared a look with Mary. "My — from your looks whatever your mother said must've been particularly bad — remain after the guests leave, and we might talk about it."

Elizabeth grimaced. "We won't."

"Ah — very bad indeed. Then we shall talk about something else entirely, perhaps those handsome, amiable, _single_ gentlemen at Netherfield. Oh, Mrs. Bennet ruined that subject. Then we shall talk about fashion!"

Elizabeth laughed. Mary, as usual, had been quiet, but now she quirked her eye at both of them and added, "We also may talk about upright living."

"Fashion and moral behavior. It is the plan." Mrs. Bennet entered the room with a scowl. Mary went to greet her and Jane, while Charlotte quickly added, "Lizzy, barely any guests have arrived, you are looking better — but go sit in the study for a half hour and calm down. I'll keep your mother away from you."

Nodding gratefully, Elizabeth walked down the hall and entered the familiar room. The portrait of her grandparents and other knickknacks and decorations Mr. Bennet had kept were long gone, however the books were still there and most of the furniture was the same. Mr. Collins had only added material more to his own taste to the large bookcases which still entirely covered two of the walls.

The room still had the old comforting scent of tobacco and port. It still had the same dark leather wingback chairs. It still had the same mahogany incidental tables. It still had the same musty, dusty smell of old books.

The look through the window was different. There had been a large oak tree in her father's time, but when that tree had died it was replaced with an extension of Mr. Collins's gardens. Right now the garden was mostly frozen and dull in the dim afternoon light, but in the spring and summer the profusion of colors made an improvement.

Elizabeth pulled an old children's book off the shelf and rubbed her thumb over the bindings. She opened the first page and looked with a smile at the pencil marks she had scribbled into it as a child.

Might Mama be right?

Maybe Mr. Darcy didn't like her at all — perhaps he only spent time with her because he thought her to be a silly, vulnerable girl who could easily be persuaded into immorality. He knew she was penniless; he knew she had no hope of a good marriage. Maybe he thought that if he just smiled that practiced smile and talked her around she would agree to be his mistress.

That was why he paid no attention to Jane.

He did not like her better, but anyone could see at a glance that Jane was too good to ever be persuaded into sin.

Well, he was wrong. _I will be as good as Jane is_.

Elizabeth sat down and forced her sudden anger at Mr. Darcy away. She flipped open the children's book on her lap and looked at the printed illustrations in the middle. It told the story of a fairytale princess in a pretty dress.

Their conversations suddenly took on a different light. Why did he want to get her to accept money for cards? When he asked about how she felt about Mr. B, was he feeling her out? Seeing if she might be morally loose?

Well she wasn't, and if that _had_ been his hope, her answers disappointed him. Elizabeth had thought then that he asked because…maybe he'd had a mistress in the past and wondered what she would think of _him_.

Maybe he had a mistress _now_. It would not be a subject to occur in conversation.

No.

Elizabeth's chest tightened with pain at the thought. She didn't want him to have a mistress.

It was not her affair if he did.

But she hated the possibility.

Of course he didn't think she might become his mistress. He was too honorable a man to form such a design. Even if he had _once_ kept a mistress, since she would _not_ believe he had one now, she was the daughter of a gentleman, and he would not try to take advantage of her present condition.

She looked at the fading afternoon light through the window, the rays made reddish by the light clouds. Maybe she wanted him to take advantage of her.

Elizabeth suddenly imagined herself saying _yes_ when he asked her to become his mistress. And then he would touch her and kiss her, and she would touch and kiss him, and it would be so _very_ wrong, but feel so very good. And then after a period of time, he would realize he loved her, and ask her to marry him, like Charles Fox and Mrs. Armistead.

Darcy pressing himself against her, his long body completely covering hers, her breasts pressed flat by his chest and one of his legs pressed between her legs.

He would say, _I want you, because I like you more_.

Elizabeth's face was flushed, and she was breathing hard. She needed to completely throw such thoughts away from her mind. She could not think like that when she saw Darcy tonight.

Darcy had told her, _I believe we shall be very good friends, you and I_.

They were to be the best of friends. That was all. All.

There was a strong knock on the door to the study, and Mr. Darcy entered, leaving the door ajar. "You are such a pretty picture. Very much how I imagined you would appear when I was sent to retrieve you; a book in hand and an enigmatic smile."

He was so handsome and tall. The line of his jaw was so strong, and Elizabeth wished she could run her hand over it and kiss him. Mama's suggestion had changed something in Elizabeth's mind. She saw an odd double image as she watched Darcy: she imagined him looking at her and wanting to touch and fondle her improperly.

Elizabeth blushed brightly and looked away from Darcy as she stood up to join him. She could see from the corner of her eye that he quirked an eyebrow at her. He was about to say something, but his attention was caught by the rows of bookshelves.

Darcy held his finger a few inches away from the shelves and bounced it in front of each book as he read the titles one by one. Murmuring to himself, Darcy pulled a thick volume from the shelf, her father's copy of Virgil's _Aeneid_ in the Latin.

It was delightful to see Darcy revealed as a bibliophile who would drop all else to study a good collection of books.

Elizabeth stood a little away from him and grinned openly at her friend as he opened the book, with a small billow of dust, and dragged his finger along the page. He began to whisper unintelligible lines of Latin under his breath.

After a minute he startled and noticed her again. With an embarrassed blush, Darcy rubbed at the back of his neck, and hastily put the book back on the shelf.

Elizabeth laughed and said, "I daresay your cousins would be most displeased with you if they learned that you had forgotten yourself so far in the presence of a pretty woman."

"They would." Darcy grinned at her, and it made her stomach flutter. "I must beg you to hide this. Though I fear, as it was an insult to you as well, you might be unwilling."

"No, no — I grow quite inattentive in the presence of books as well. Anyone will tell you _that_. On occasion even shouting will not gain my attention. Your secret is safe with me, since to take offense would be hypocritical."

He stood close to her, and caught by memory of what her mother had said about touching herself Elizabeth half consciously fluttered her hand along the exposed part of her shoulder and neck. Darcy's eyes followed her hand, and she saw him glance down at her bosom.

But he quickly brought his eyes back to hers and said, "Do you lose attention to everything when you read? It is a pretty image. I would enjoy watching you read — though, I beg you, be careful when you walk about and read. _I_ would be far more saddened than amused if a cart ran you over."

"Yes, but it would be a characteristic way to die."

"If you like the idea so much, wait until you are eighty and have read a great many more books. At present, there is too much left for you to read to allow it."

A maid walked through the open door of the study, and with a curtsy announced that it was time to enter for dinner.

As they walked to the drawing room, Mr. Darcy commented, "Mr. Collins has a fine collection."

"It was mostly created by my father — Mr. Collins's tastes run more to the religious and his books are on the other wall."

Mr. Darcy said, "It does not surprise me that your father was a great collector of books. I must look over the titles more closely."

Not knowing why, Elizabeth blushed. However, they were then separated, as Mr. Darcy was to escort Miss Bingley into the dining room.

During dinner Elizabeth and Darcy were seated at opposite sides of the table. Afterwards Elizabeth talked to Colonel Forster and Captain Denny for some minutes. She remembered how Darcy had watched and enjoyed her music at Lucas Lodge, and she eagerly volunteered to play a song when the opportunity came. Conscious of Darcy's eyes on her, Elizabeth colored and imbued the song with as much emotion as she could.

She was no expert at music, Mary was twice as skilled as her, and there were many others were even better. However, Elizabeth was conscious that she _looked_ very well when she played.

Darcy's dark blue eyes were intent on her person. She liked him watching her. Something deep inside quivered.

She was displaying herself for Mr. Darcy. She hoped to impress him. She had been trying to impress him since she met him. It was foolish. She could not let herself fall in love with him. In a few weeks he would leave for his bright and varied life in London and Derbyshire and leave her to her blank existence again.

But he smiled at her, and he was so kind — with the way he looked at her, it would be easy to fall in love. What if she _did_ seduce him?

When she finished, Elizabeth walked to Darcy with a blushing smile and said, "You heard how very poor my playing was."

"You fish for a compliment, and yet I must be so ungallant as to deny your hope, for though I have never _seen_ a more beautiful performer, and never have I enjoyed a song more — you sung with so much feeling. It truly did touch me. That was how the song was meant to be sung. However, I cannot lie, even if I have never enjoyed a performance more, there were some fudges and weak moments."

"Horrible, I am so hurt to hear you disliked it so much."

"I am not surprised you are hurt. I wish I had no knowledge of music so I could believe you played perfectly, but alas my sister is a true adept, and I must never tell a lie."

"Never tell a lie? That is a horrid practice; you can see the tears in my eyes from your brutal honesty."

Darcy leaned forward and Elizabeth stretched her head towards his. He stared into her eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Their grins faded towards a more serious expression, and Elizabeth's heart beat wildly. She was so forward today.

When Darcy broke his peering gaze he said, "Would you show me about your father's book collection?"

Elizabeth nodded shakily.

The two went to the study. Mr. Long was in a wingback chair, puffing a pipe and thumbing through a history of India. After brief words of greeting Darcy walked up to the shelf he had examined earlier in the afternoon, and Elizabeth described the more interesting books in the collection and what she remembered of when her father acquired them.

She was watched closely by Darcy. He nodded attentively and asked excellent questions. Unlike earlier, this time he never became so distracted by one of the books as to forget her presence. She loved having his full attention.

At some point Mr. Long left the room, and when Elizabeth finished describing the last shelf of books from her father's collection, she realized that though the door was still open, they were alone.

Her fantasy of him kissing her, of…being his. It was very present. She suddenly said, "I miss being able to have so many books. And other things. But the books more than anything. If only I could do something, to, to fix everything. Maybe, I should…take up highway robbery."

Elizabeth looked away, her heart suddenly beating hard. She realized her fantasy was bleeding into reality. She didn't mean highway robbery. She didn't mean anything.

"You would make a fetching robber; one would enjoy being stolen from by you."

"Would you really take up highway robbery with me?" Her voice squeaked.

Mr. Darcy blinked. He smiled at her, but it was different from that practiced smile with the dimples, something softer and deeper. "I would buy the horses and guns if you wished to go thieving with me."

"Oh. But I never could. I wouldn't…it would be so wrong. 'Tis a fantasy."

"Perhaps there is a fantasy which would not be so wrong, where nothing is stolen." Somehow Darcy was holding one of her hands? "Perhaps there is a way."

What did he mean? What had she meant?

Elizabeth pulled away and grabbed a book off a shelf. "I loved this room when Father lived. It was all so different, I was so different. I do miss those days, but he is dead. I know such things will never return. I know. I really am happy and satisfied. Nothing else."

She blindly handed Darcy the book she had grabbed. His brows were furrowed. Elizabeth was frightened by the moment and she hoped to keep him from saying anything that she might imagine him saying. She asked in a rush, "What book did I give you?"

They looked down at it. It was the children's book she'd looked at earlier. He opened it and saw her penciled drawings and the declaration written in pen that the book was Lizzy's property scrawled in the front.

"I did not mean to hand _that_ to you." Elizabeth blushed at how he smiled at her childish drawings.

"I want to see it. It is charming to imagine you as a child."

"Papa gave me that book."

"You cared about your father a great deal." There was a wistful tone in Darcy's voice. "Tell me about him."

Elizabeth cast her mind back over the years to her dim memories of that happy time. "Well…he loved books." Elizabeth and Darcy shared a grin. That had already been well-established.

"I was his favorite daughter. I was only eleven when he died, so there is much I do not remember, but I spent hours with him in this room. He often told me about what he was reading, and he would tell me stories. Sometimes he talked about history or mythology, other times some boring matter of land management, but no matter what I always listened, loving the attention."

Elizabeth pointed at the desk and the heavy leather chair behind it. "When I was very young he would have me sit on his lap, and he read to me, or he had me practice my letters by reading aloud to him. Papa was rather plump, so he made a comfortable cushion."

Darcy and Elizabeth smiled at each other again. The tension that had been there before suffused into a softness, and that moment where he might have said anything was gone.

"He loved fine cigars and port," Elizabeth continued, "so that smell would permeate the area. I've always felt warm when I smell that combination. At some point, I brought my own chair in here. It was a frilly little thing I brought from the nursery. Mr. Collins — that is the father of the present Mr. Collins — banished the chair back when he inherited the estate."

"It sounds a pretty childhood."

"It was. Your turn — tell me about your father."

Mr. Darcy's face became bleak and closed off. He looked away from Elizabeth. The lines around his mouth were pained, and Elizabeth felt anxiety for whatever he must be feeling. On an impulse she seized Darcy's hand and said, "Oh, do not tell me if you do not wish to."

Darcy looked down at her hand on his and smiled. He covered her hand with his other, and warmth traveled up Elizabeth's arm. They were not wearing gloves, as it was an indoor party, so it was bare skin against bare skin. His large hand and long fingers were so much bigger than hers, but her hand fit perfectly in his.

Their eyes looked into each other, but there was none of the tension she felt earlier, for Darcy was somber. The bleakness returned to his eyes, but it was softer somehow. When he spoke his voice was harsh, "He shot himself — when I was thirteen, he shot himself."

Elizabeth gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand.

She would do anything to remove the unhappiness and hint of anger she saw in him.

Darcy spoke quickly, convulsively tightening his grip on her hand. "The story is known to no one outside of the family but our lawyer. He'd been deliberate and careful, and made it look like a shooting accident to avoid the shame and legal trouble for the family. I'd loved him dearly — and, and he — my mother had died a year before. When Georgiana was born. We had been the happiest, closest family. Mother and Father laughed all day together. The house was filled with friends and music, but they both made time to play with me and teach me — few people had a happier or better boyhood than I did."

Darcy's eyes looked into hers. His eyes were tight around the edges.

"When my mother died…it took something out of my father. He refused to even try to recover. I did not understand then. I was a boy who had lost his mother, and I needed my father to be a comforting and solid presence again. Instead—"

Darcy shook his head. "Even before he died, it was my uncle who cared for me the most. He grieved for his sister very much, but he was naturally less hurt, and…he is a better man than my father was. I was sent to school. And then a year after mother died, my uncle came to Eton with the news. I think he meant to tell the story that it was a hunting accident. But he was terribly angry at my father, at my father's selfishness."

They were silent. Darcy stared to the side looking into his memories. Elizabeth squeezed his hand again, too intent on Darcy's pain to blush at her forwardness. His fingers were warm and firm. He looked at her again and smiled softly. Elizabeth felt a jolt in her chest.

Darcy shrugged and continued without the earlier pain in his voice, "I did not believe him. I was sure my father would never do that." Darcy let out a hollow chuckle. "I tried to investigate, like a judge would, I wanted to figure out who had murdered my father and why. Eventually I accused my uncle of murdering him for some mysterious reason and hiding the evidence."

Darcy's smile was humorless and mocking. Elizabeth saw that hurt young boy, and wished she could reach through time and hug him and promise all would be well.

He let go of her hand and rubbed at his face.

"Matlock wasn't angry with me — instead he looked at me with pity and brought out the suicide note which had been packaged with my father's will. The words — some of the lines were burned into my mind. _I am never happy. I have no reason to continue living_ — He had me. He had Georgiana. Didn't we matter?"

Darcy fell silent. Elizabeth watched the hard lines of his clenched jaw in the flickering firelight.

Elizabeth wanted to throw her arms around him and cry for him.

He turned his gaze back to her and smiled slightly. "I never speak about this. Eventually, I was able to forgive him in my mind. He was sick. It was a sickness brought by my mother's death, and I've always determined to remember him as he was before."

"I'm glad. He _was_ sick."

"Yes."

Not understanding herself, Elizabeth grabbed Darcy's hand again and squeezed it tightly. "Only remember the past as it brings pleasure. Life is fragile, filled with unfairness. It is unfair that your mother died, it is unfair that your father, that he… There is so much unfairness. You can be a cynic or you can be happy. We should all choose to be happy."

"That is precisely my uncle's philosophy. He feels he must strive to be happy always because there are so many who don't and who are unhappy. He also tries to help others to be able to live happier — instead of giant houses he builds orphanages and schools."

"You are lucky he was such a good man."

"I am lucky."

"At least…" Elizabeth's mind had returned to Darcy's story. It was a terribly sad tale, but there was something romantic in it. "At least your parents did love each other."

Darcy replied sharply, "I want nothing of that sort of love. Nothing that would make me so selfish as to forget every other connection and concern. I have sworn never to fall in love."

"That is awful!" Elizabeth felt hurt for him.

"No. It is sensible." He smiled sourly.

"Don't let your father's memory hurt you that way — don't. He _was_ selfish, but love doesn't need to be. Don't close yourself away. You should determine that you _will_ fall in love, but that should you lose her, you will grieve and think of the happy times, and live a happy life for her sake."

"Is it that simple? No, I think deep love, real love, is a disease. One I shall protect myself from."

"Surely you intend to marry. What then? Will you not love your wife?"

Darcy looked at her with surprise. "That is hardly the purpose of marriage. Marriage is to enhance the status and connections of your family. You _should_ know that."

"Yes, yes. But I do not think women with good dowries and connections are unlovable as a group. Oh, no matter what — do not marry without affection."

Darcy shrugged. "I shall feel _affection_. It is easy to feel affection. But I also feel affection for all my friends, for you, for my horse, for—"

Elizabeth giggled involuntarily, half breaking their tension.

Darcy blushed. "I did not mean to say that. A completely inapt comparison. But affection is not love. I would never marry without affection, but I would never marry _with_ love. If I were in love…" Darcy stuttered to a stop and looked at Elizabeth with the bleakness back in his eyes. "I am afraid — I am too much like my father. If I fell in love, I…I would feel too strongly."

Elizabeth felt there were tears pricking at her eyes.

"Do not look at me that way. I am happy."

"I hurt for you. I cannot help it, and you cannot stop me." Words flowed through Elizabeth. "You asked me what was on my mind, when I sat against the wall of the assembly ball. Do you still wish to know?"

Darcy nodded, his face intent and serious. Elizabeth had never told this to anyone but Jane.

"I — it really is embarrassing — I pretend everything is perfect."

Darcy didn't say anything, but his blue eyes were attentive.

With a blush Elizabeth hurried on, "It began a few months after Mama ran out of money. I — I didn't want to be angry or scared anymore. So I spent an hour imagining everything was perfect — Papa never died, we still lived at Longbourn, Mama was clever and kind. And — I realized things were not very bad, Mama was not so horrible, and whenever something upsets me I sit down and imagine things are perfect, the way they should be."

She became embarrassed and knew it sounded completely silly and absurd. But it made her happy. She looked down. Darcy didn't say anything. His eyes were on her, glowing with tenderness. She smiled at him and shrugged. "So do you think I am silly and stupid?"

"Never."

"It is not that I do not face the world the way it is. I know we are penniless dependents, and that Lydia did not marry a gentleman, and that Mama is… Well that she is who she is. But I am always able to go somewhere else for a half hour, and so nothing makes me unhappy."

He kept smiling at her. Elizabeth felt a happy glow encompass her whole body. A feeling of lightness. "I have only told Jane. Not even Charlotte or Aunt Gardiner."

"Thank you for trusting me."

Elizabeth burst with passion. "So you see, happiness is a choice. You always can make yourself happy. Do not be too scared to fall in love."

"Maybe." There was awkwardness in his manner. "Come," Darcy's voice was gruff, "we've been away from the party for too long."


	10. Chapter 10

Darcy's fantasies had changed. He used to imagine Elizabeth naked in his bed, his body pressed against hers. Now he felt guilty if he did so. She was too much a friend, too much a person, too much someone important to him to imagine her that way without her willingness.

He wanted to share the pleasures of the bedroom with her. He wanted her to be there, smiling and happy. But he couldn't imagine her naked until _she_ chose to let him see her that way.

Instead he remembered how she clutched his hand in sympathy for his father's death.

Nothing had ever felt like this before. Darcy had felt tenderness for a woman before. It was why he could never keep more than one mistress at a time, like his uncle would. He would feel guilty. But it was so much more now that he felt. If she were wealthy and had decent connections, he would flee, because he would fall in love with her and want to marry her.

The inequality kept him safe. She was too beneath him, he would be the benefactor, and she would be someone he cared for.

Something changed that night when they examined her father's books together in Elizabeth's childhood haunt. Until then he had not believed that she would accept an offer of protection from him. But something in her words. He believed she had divined his desires, or maybe had formed her own. There was a new undertone of intimacy and meaning.

She was still hesitant though. He must let her become accustomed to the idea and to him.

Whenever Darcy had a free moment, sitting by the window in his room, or next to the fireplace in the library, he thought about Elizabeth. He imagined them together. Darcy planned to install her in a pretty two story stone cottage on the outskirts of the estate. They could have so many conversations and walks together. If Lord Matlock could introduce Georgiana to _his_ mistress, he could introduce his sister to Elizabeth. They would be friends.

He so looked forward to having her so close always.

One day early in November, Darcy spent the morning shooting with Bingley. Early in the afternoon he took a long walk around Netherfield. That evening Bingley's party was to dine with a family who lived on the opposite side of Netherfield from Meryton, and Darcy was not looking forward to it. They were to miss a party where he could have seen Elizabeth. Halfway through his walk, he saw two women walking arm and arm in the distance and realized one of them was Elizabeth, and the other was heavy with child.

"Hallo, Miss Elizabeth. What do you do so far out from Meryton?"

Though she was taller than Elizabeth, Darcy realized the other woman looked surprisingly young for a mother. She had a tilt in her eyes and a grin that was similar to Elizabeth's. Elizabeth blushed, and her face was turned a little away from both of them.

As he hurried up, Darcy bowed and said, "Would you introduce your friend to me?"

Even before she spoke, Darcy realized this was the sister who had famously married a blacksmith. Elizabeth shrugged and with a red face said, "Mr. Darcy, this is my sister, Mrs. Lydia Brown. Lydia, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire."

The girl giggled as she curtsied awkwardly. "My, you are even taller up close. I am quite near the tallest girl I know, but you tower above me as well. My Tom is not nearly so tall as you, but he is brawnier."

Darcy quirked an eyebrow. He glanced at Elizabeth expecting her to meet his look, but instead she studied the ground.

Of course. He hated it when friends met Lady Catherine, and this must be worse.

Instinctively, Darcy stepped between the women and took an arm from each of them. He flashed Lydia his strongest smile. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Brown. I consider your sister a dear friend, and hope we might be friends as well."

Darcy meant it too.

Social distinctions must be maintained; he was her superior and would not forget it. But friendship didn't mean equality. It meant good will and a sincere concern for the other's welfare. She was Elizabeth's sister and Darcy was prepared to think well of Lydia.

Lydia giggled. "That is a pretty smile, Mr. Darcy. Very pretty."

Pretty was not his preferred word. But at least Elizabeth's sister approved of him. Darcy smiled at Lydia again. "I have put great effort into that smile. It is an accomplishment I am excessively proud of."

Elizabeth giggled as Lydia replied, "You did! I thought only woman practiced their smiles."

"You ought" — Elizabeth's giggles stopped her from speaking — "you ought to tell her the story of how you perfected it."

Darcy grinned, pleased that Elizabeth's embarrassment had faded. "Nay. And you shall not share it either — I told you that tale in the strictest confidence."

"La! You need not tell me. I'm sure you used a mirror."

"He did not — the real story is more delightful by far."

Darcy looked at Elizabeth, and she impishly grinned back. "I am at liberty to reveal what the story was not."

"You make it sound like a great joke. I promise you, Mr. Darcy, I won't go and tell everyone, it will be ever so much more fun to hint about it like Lizzy is."

"I thank you kindly for the promise, but I fear as the tale involves another gentleman—"

"Oh! You practiced with your brother like I did with Kitty."

Darcy blushed. "My cousin — I have no brother."

Lydia's eyes lit up with an unholy eagerness. "Did you also practice kissing together? Me and Kitty did."

Darcy choked and a little squeak emitted from his throat. Which part should he be more shocked by?

Lydia's voice was a little hollow when she said. "I suppose not. Oh, well."

Darcy glanced to the other side. Elizabeth stared open mouthed at her sister. Darcy jostled her with his elbow and as soon as she glanced at him her face went rose red. "I…I had no…idea."

Recovering his equilibrium Darcy said urbanely, "From your surprise I take it you and Miss Jane never…"

The image popped into Darcy's mind and he found it weirdly arousing. Definitely something to _not_ think about.

Elizabeth sharply looked at him. And while she blushed as hard as before, she looked less uncomfortable. "Shocking! Shocking, horrid suggestion." She pushed Darcy hard in the arm.

"La! You and Jane never did? Does that mean you also never—"

Elizabeth spoke fast to interrupt Lydia. "I now understand why everyone thought you were a poor influence on Kitty."

The other girl laughed. "You are so prudish. Have I shocked _you_ , Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, but it does not surprise me that curiosity would cause you to experiment. I shall never think of girls' schools the same again. You and Miss Kitty can hardly be the only ones."

Elizabeth's voice was high. "What! Surely they don't—"

"Miss Elizabeth. You are well read and have a vivid imagination."

Elizabeth blushed even redder. Darcy grinned at her.

Lydia said, "I was determined not to like you, Mr. Darcy. Lizzy has said you're a friend, but I do not approve of quality. People like you and my uncle always expect everyone to bow and scrape all the time. Well, even if you have a nice smile I will not. We have some pride. I may not be rich and fancy like Mr. Phillips or you, but we keep a maid and a neat house."

Darcy stared at her. Being compared to Mr. Phillips shocked him almost as much as the suggestion he may have practiced kissing with Richard. "I am nothing like your uncle."

Lydia was somewhat taken aback by his sharp tone, and Elizabeth started laughing and laughing.

"Mr. Darcy — hahahaha — he, he doesn't, hahahaha, he thinks himself far too lordly to take a comparison to a country attorney kindly."

"He ain't a Lord. He's just a Mister. I know that. I'd respect him if he were a Lord."

Elizabeth kept laughing. Tears were actually forming on the edge of her eyes. He grinned, unable to resist Elizabeth's amusement, even if it was at his own expense. He had teased her just a minute before anyways.

"My uncle and cousin are Lords."

Lydia's eyes widened. "Oh. That's nearly Lord. Is this the cousin you practiced that pretty smile of yours with?"

"In a manner. Lord Derwent had me smile at his brother while he studied the effect and gave advice."

Lydia giggled.

They had walked up to a house in the village a quarter-mile from Netherfield, and Lydia pulled open the door. "Mr. Darcy, will you come in and take tea with me and Lizzy?"

Darcy bowed. "I would be delighted."

The house was a solidly built timber-framed structure. It was a clean, thoroughly aired house. There was a coal stove and pipe chimney in the front room. Lydia led them through one of the doors to a tiny parlor with a flower-patterned wallpaper and several old but clean sofas and solid wooden chairs. The pregnant girl began to heavily bend down to light the fire, but Elizabeth stopped Lydia with a hand on her shoulder and did it herself, her hands moving in quick efficient gestures to strike the match and stir the coals.

Lydia shouted from the door. "Lucy!"

A maid with a smudged face who looked to be almost as young as the mistress entered the room. Her cotton apron was dirty, and her hair askew. Lydia ordered her to bring out the china set. Once the girl left Lydia set the water on the stove to heat.

Smithing was a skilled trade, and it was often a profitable occupation. While she was no longer a member of the gentry, it did not look like Lydia's situation was very bad. Darcy had often visited the house of tenants and craftsmen on his lands, and this house looked prosperous. At a guess, Mr. Brown's income was far over a hundred pounds per annum. By the standards of the lower classes, it was a tidy sum.

The table was quickly set, with Elizabeth helping her sister. It was an old set that Darcy was quite sure had been purchased, likely by Mr. Brown's father, second hand. There were a few chips in the cups.

Lydia sat down as they waited for the water. "Lizzy, you should visit more. We have such fine country dances, I am too far along to really follow them anymore, but they are such fun. Two nights ago the miller got so drunk he tried climbing the steeple of the parish church, but he didn't get far before he fell and banged his head. But he was fine, just a big bruise, and we all laughed, and it was great fun. I am such good friends with everyone, and things are just so much more _fun_ than being _respectable_ and rich. You should marry like I did. I could help you find a good husband."

"I thank you for the offer, but I…" Elizabeth blushed and glanced at Darcy. "I am quite happy as I am."

"You are not. You cannot possibly be happy living with Uncle Phillips. Now, I know you want someone learned and readerly like you. But most of the better sort in the village can read. And the blacksmith two villages over spends half his spare money on books. _He_ is unmarried, perhaps you would like him. He isn't as handsome as my Tom, but…"

Darcy smiled at the way Elizabeth's face screwed up. "Thank you very much. But I need no such introduction."

Lydia shook her head. "Is it so important you always look _respectable_? You can't be having any fun. Not at all. Mr. Phillips is a tyrant; a tyrant I say. Forget about keeping up appearances. You don't want to marry someone like him. And besides you are getting quite old. I'd be dreadfully embarrassed if I'd reached Jane's age and not married."

"Lydia, I do have fun. And…I am still, partly, respectable, and I shall stay that way."

Darcy still asked quickly, "Does it really matter so much to you? Being respectable?"

"I don't wish to be a blacksmith's wife, even if it would be _fun_ …" she trailed off as Darcy stared at her. "Well, no…it is not so important."

Darcy smiled at her, and she smiled back, and then in a new nervous gesture he'd seen several times recently rubbed her hand over her neck and then over the top of her collarbones. It drew his eyes towards her bosom. He wanted to brush his hands over her skin.

The maid brought the hot water and poured it into a tea pot. She glanced curiously at Darcy and blushed.

Elizabeth said, " _You_ do not think I should look for a strapping blacksmith to marry."

"You should act in a way that will make you happy. You should pay attention to the future. But you shouldn't care what other people think of you."

"Oh, well in that case I _should_ marry a strapping blacksmith."

Lydia said, "You should. And not in jest."

At the same moment Darcy replied, "I do _not_ mean that."

Lydia laughed tapping the tea pot in the middle of the table. "Just another minute. Ha, so you don't approve of gentlewomen marrying blacksmiths. I knew there was a _little_ disdain in you."

"My uncle _is_ a Lord. You can hardly expect otherwise. I will strive to be polite in my disdain."

"No need for _that_." Lydia laughed. "You talk to me, though of course it is only because you like Lizzy so much, I haven't spoken to any of my family or _friends_ except Lizzy and Kitty since marrying. La! Mama always told me to marry, and then when I did she dropped me completely!"

Elizabeth said, "I do not believe she meant for you to be three months with child and for the husband to be a blacksmith."

Lydia poured the tea into Darcy's cup, followed by milk and sugar. From how her hands moved, Lydia had been only half taught how to do the ceremony. He sniffed the fragrant brew, and then took a cautious sip.

Lydia said, as she poured Elizabeth's tea and her own, "Mama only disliked that my husband is a blacksmith. She explained that everything the church says about never having any fun between men and women, that only is important if you have money."

Darcy's eyes cut to Elizabeth. She was staring at her sister again.

Lydia said, in a slightly defensive tone, "What, did she never explain that to you and Jane? No wonder neither of you are married yet. I imagine you just bat your eyes at men, and hope they will ask you. That is not the way to go about it at all. And Lord. You are twenty! I can't imagine being that old and never having a man…well it is very, very fun. Especially when you have such a _man_ as I do."

"Do not say such things! Not in front of Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth's face was red, and she looked away from him.

Darcy tapped his fingers against the edge of the cup. What _should_ he say?

Elizabeth bit her lip, and suddenly she sat up and looked directly at him with something wild in her dark eyes. "Mama advised me so recently. She did say such matters only matter if you have money."

Despite Lydia's presence, he felt as though Elizabeth was telling him something important. His heart suddenly beating faster Darcy said with his stomach clenched, "And do you plan to follow your mother's sage advice?"

He then looked away from Elizabeth. He'd tried to keep his voice casual and teasing, but didn't think he had.

Lydia laughed. "Lizzy never listens to Mama, even when she is right. What about you, Mr. Darcy, have you always been _respectable_? It would be a terrible shame if you have. A man as good looking as you are."

Elizabeth was now looking at him again, her face very red, but full of curiosity also.

"I… It is not quite respectable to be _respectable_ in my circles. You have heard of how depraved high society is, I am sure."

Elizabeth kicked him under the table. "Mr. Darcy, that was no answer. If you insist I should not care about being respectable, you'll satisfy my curiosity."

He looked back at her. Her face was red, but she leaned forward eagerly biting her lip. What had gotten into Elizabeth? There was something in her eyes. Darcy felt a rush of lust.

"Do tell me."

Darcy looked down. He felt uncomfortable. "I have…not been respectable." He looked at Elizabeth again. Something of the glee that was present in her a moment earlier was gone.

She mouthed, "Oh."

"I think there was nothing wrong in the doing."

"No?"

"Truly I do not. It, is not a wrong thing. I…"

Lydia exclaimed, "La, do not become missish of a sudden, Lizzy. Of course your dear Mr. Darcy has had his way with women. His cousins didn't help him practice looking charming so that he could just smile at us."

"Of course not." Elizabeth's voice was flat.

Darcy worried. She'd seemed so promising a minute earlier. Maybe he should have lied? But that would have been absurd, and he would not lie to Elizabeth. What was she thinking? He couldn't try to explain himself or ask Elizabeth what really bothered _her_. Maybe it simply was that she liked him very much and disliked the thought other women had been with him.

It was not _fair_ but he enjoyed the thought of being Elizabeth's first and, perhaps, only lover.

Lydia giggled. "Lizzy _is_ quite prudish. Lizzy, you should go off with a man." She winked at Darcy. "It will make you so much happier."

"Do _not_ say such things about me! I am not so uncontrolled as to lose my head. I am still a gentlewoman, just because I…I'll not throw all that I've been taught away. I'm not like you."

Elizabeth blanched and looked apologetically at Lydia.

Darcy felt a kick in his stomach. She must be saying that to him as well. Surely Elizabeth must realize what he hoped.

Lydia shrugged. "I know you think the worst of me, but I am happily married and you are not. I shall have a child soon, and I don't live with Mr. Phillips anymore."

Elizabeth exclaimed, "No! I do not think so ill of you."

Lydia ignored her and smiled at Darcy. "Mr. Darcy, what do _you_ think of Uncle Phillips and my Mama? I do not understand how Lizzy stands them. It cannot last forever, and then she will need to escape like I did. Lizzy, you'd best find a good man to care for you while you are still young and pretty."

Elizabeth said, "Lydie, it isn't my place to judge you. Such matters are between you and providence. I did not mean to say it that way. I just wish to make my own choices."

"Lizzy does not like to talk about how much she dislikes Mama and Mr. Phillips, but you can tell me what you really think. I do not care."

"Lydia, please." Elizabeth's voice was pleading.

Lydia looked at her. "What I did was quite contrary to what the rich people claim girls should do. I do not care. Besides, they hate me more for marrying a blacksmith than for, what is the term that writer you adore used? The one in the play with the black man?" Lydia giggled. "The beast with two backs. I made the beast with two backs without some parson telling me I could, and I am glad I did. I know _you_ don't hate me for it, and you can be as prudish as you wish otherwise. It is your mistake."

"It isn't a joke. She should be angry at you." Darcy was surprised by how sharply he spoke. "You hurt your sisters by marrying so low. It isn't only your own happiness that matters."

"What are you talking about?"

"You made it far harder for them to marry."

"No. I could introduce Lizzy to one of Tom's friends. Lizzy, I really can get you a husband, if you aren't obsessed with being so respectable."

"Mrs. Brown, gentlewomen are supposed to marry gentlemen. Substantial persons will not marry the sister-in-law of a blacksmith. Elizabeth told me a suitor of Jane's left when news of your marriage arrived."

"He clearly didn't love Jane very much. Lord, even if she is absurdly old, Jane is better off without such a person. If the rich fops don't want to marry my sisters because of Tom, such men are useless anyways."

"People had best marry within their own sphere."

"Not if you are marrying quality. They are no fun. I wouldn't marry quality no matter what."

"It isn't your right to make that choice for your sisters."

Lydia shot Darcy a shrewd look. "What, would you have married Lizzy if only she didn't have a blacksmith as a brother? Is that why you are angry?"

" _No_. My grandfather was an earl." As he spoke Darcy's attention was pulled by the scraping sound of Elizabeth pushing her chair further away from him. Her face was white. "My name goes back centuries. I shall marry into an entirely higher sphere, into my own sphere."

"La. You won't have much fun. You like Lizzy far more than whatever rich Miss you will marry."

Elizabeth said, "Enough. Lydia, nothing more on this topic. _Nothing more_. Forgive my sister, Mr. Darcy, for…for suggesting such things."

Darcy began to wish he'd not met her with Lydia. Elizabeth could not have hoped he would marry her, but him saying it in such a blunt way must feel like a slap.

Darcy shook his head. "No. Forgive me."

"Lydia, since it has been said, I know you did not think about us, about how your _liaison_ would affect us. You should have, but…in the matter of marriage a person should follow their own counsel. It is not a matter of what your family wishes. And if a man will not marry _Jane_ over such a cause, we _are_ best off without him."

The table fell silent. Darcy sipped at the tea, and then Miss Lydia refilled his cup. He thought it tasted strong and flavorful. He knew there were people who were convinced it was very important to drink only the most expensive tea, but Darcy could not consistently tell the difference.

What was Elizabeth thinking? Darcy was committed to never making a fool of himself over a woman, but Bingley wasn't. His friend had told him that he wouldn't mind at all marrying a girl with no dowry. But Darcy knew he wouldn't marry a blacksmith's sister.

"Mr. Darcy," Lydia spoke again, "I really do wish to hear what you think of my family. Jane of course is excessively pretty, everyone thinks that. But what about Mama and my Aunt and Uncle."

"They do not like you."

"Hahahaha. Good. I do not like Mr. Phillips at all. And everyone knows Mama is a fool. She spent six thousand pounds in just a few years. I cannot even imagine spending so much money. Even if you eat meat every day and keep two domestics, how is it possible?"

Darcy said, "You can hardly expect an outsider to insult your family." But then the anger that had been in him since the card party where Mr. Phillips attacked Elizabeth again and again burst out. "I despise him. Mr. Phillips and Mrs. Bennet do not treat your sister as she deserves. They do not. Elizabeth, _you deserve better_. You should find any way to get away, even if it is not respectable. Not marrying a blacksmith but…you must not stay in that house, with that awful man and your mother who blames you for everything which goes amiss. If…if there ever is a way to leave…you must take it."

Elizabeth exclaimed, "There _isn't_! But I am not trapped; I tell you, and I've told you, _I am not unhappy_. I am not. I could never go where Jane could not follow me."

Lydia said, "You are worth at least three of Jane. I'd never suggest _she_ marry one of my friends. She would never be able to do any work or have any fun. She is too pretty to have fun or do work."

"Jane is perfect. I shall hear no words against her."

"La! She is not."

The front door was rattled open, and the most thickly muscled man Darcy had ever seen stuck his head into the parlor. He was shirtless, and Elizabeth squeaked and hid her face, while Lydia openly ogled her husband. The blacksmith had massive arms that were as thick as many men's legs and a hairy chest. The skin was red from the heat of the forge, and he had a friendly face.

Seeing them he bowed his head. "Pardon me, sir. Pardon me, Miss Lizzy. Did not expect guests." He backed away and entered one of the backrooms, presumably to get a shirt.

Lydia grinned widely at him and when the door closed behind her husband, she exclaimed, "See! Isn't he so handsome? I told you he is brawnier than you, Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth's face was completely red again. Darcy felt a twinge of jealousy, because she'd been looking at the shirtless muscled back. Darcy had a lean figure, from fencing, horse riding, and occasional bouts of pugilism. But he'd _never_ felt small and inadequate in this way. He was a gentleman, but that did not change that he would never be so massively built.

After a minute the blacksmith reentered the room. He wore a linen shirt and the sort of coat richer workers tended to own for funerals and special occasions, but it bulged uncomfortably around his arms. The coat had been clearly made for someone a little smaller about the chest and shoulders than its present wearer.

Elizabeth stood, though her cheeks were still red and said, "Mr. Darcy, may I introduce you to Tom Brown, Lydia's husband?"

"Of course."

Darcy slightly inclined his head and shook Mr. Brown's hand. "I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Brown. You have a fine house, and Miss Elizabeth is a dear friend of mine."

"No Mister. No Mister. No pretense, I'm just a blacksmith, the best blacksmith around for five miles. Tom, just call me Tom."

"I believe you are the best, I saw the work you did repairing the broken piece on Bingley's carriage, very fine work."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you. It is an honor. A great honor for you to be in our house."

Darcy smiled.

Lydia stood next to her husband and kissed his cheek. "He is nearly a lord. Did you know that? Mr. Darcy's uncle is a Lord."

Mr. Brown replied, "I did. It is a very great honor for you to be here."

"You did!" Lydia exclaimed. "Why did you never tell me?"

Darcy said, "I am glad for your hospitality."

Lydia flirted flagrantly with her husband, who was too awkward with Darcy present to reply properly. Likely he'd not been planning on _conversation_ when he returned home for an afternoon break from the forge. Mr. Brown uncomfortably pulled at his coat, and tried to stretch without tearing the fabric.

Just a few minutes after Mr. Brown arrived, Darcy left with Elizabeth.

Elizabeth's brother-in-law was definitely a blacksmith.

They walked out of the village a little way. He now was alone with her. He should try to make a case, make things right with her, apologize for…for not being willing to marry her. Beg her to come with him anyways. Explain that they could hide it from Jane. He had a perfect plan.

The sky was reddish as the sun was setting. There were clouds in the distance; it would likely rain tonight or tomorrow. There was a cold wind that cut through Darcy's heavy overcoat. Elizabeth shivered.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I must run to return to Meryton quickly."

"I shall call Netherfield's carriage for you."

"No, by no means." Elizabeth shook a finger in Darcy's face. "It would hardly look _respectable_ to return in such a way."

They looked at each other; her smile faded.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth, forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive. Not that I can think. I thank you for being so kind to Tom and Lydia. So you do see now? She may be thoughtless, and a little selfish, but there isn't an ounce of cruelty in Lydia, and I love her still."

"I was wrong to say anything."

Elizabeth took his hand. "There is nothing to forgive. But it is my place to decide whether I am angry at Lydia, and I am not. Oh, you shall leave so soon. It is in December, I believe?"

"Near the start."

She looked depressed, her eyebrows drawn together, creating a creased line along her forehead, and her lips turned down into a frown. She squeezed his hand. "I shall miss you. I wish I could… I wish we did not need to part. You've slipped. You've become less…superficial these past weeks."

She was still holding his hand. Darcy spoke, "Elizabeth. It...it is not necessary that…" He choked with anxiety. She was so devoted to Jane and her friends. She was so innocent.

When Darcy froze, Elizabeth pulled her hand away and held it against her cheek looking towards Meryton. "I must hurry. My aunt has one of her card parties tonight, and I shall have barely time enough to dress."

She turned back to Darcy, bit her lip, and in a sudden gesture threw her arms around him and embraced him. Then Elizabeth half ran off, the back of her cape flapping in the wind. Darcy watched her leave but the brief feel of her body pressed against his stayed with him.

Blast. Would he always flinch away at the point of asking her?


	11. Chapter 11

The feel of embracing him, and that moment of denial: _No. My grandfather was an earl._

She hadn't even dreamed he would marry her, but the rejection stung. Yet, he was so upset by what he saw of her hurt. Elizabeth had never cared before, but she now wished she _was_ part of his sphere.

Oh, it was foolish, foolish, foolish.

Damn Lydia for saying that. For making him deny it.

Their whole conversation had been so improper. But she'd so wanted to press herself against him for a moment. She wished she could have stayed forever. Elizabeth fantasized about him holding her hand, like he'd held it before, and saying, "I was wrong, about love, about you, about everything. Nothing matters more than happiness and affection. Marry me."

It wouldn't happen, but Elizabeth enjoyed imagining it.

Elizabeth had forced away the hurt and was smiling and cheerful when she reached Netherfield. As she hung her outer garments on the coat rack, Mrs. Phillips and Mama eagerly greeted her.

Mrs. Bennet spoke first: "Lord — he was the most handsome and well-mannered gentleman I've ever seen."

"And how he walked — such elegance."

"Who are you speaking of?"

"Mr. Wickham. A new officer — a friend of Denny's, when Denny was in London, he saw his old friend and convinced him to enroll in the militia."

"From your enthusiasm, I expect he shall be an excellent addition to the neighborhood," Elizabeth replied with a grin. "Jane, did you see this happy creature as well?"

"I did. He has very good features and an excellent address."

"Am I to meet him? May I hope he comes to your card party tonight, aunt?"

"Yes! And he agreed with a very pretty set of words indeed, he looks forward to acquaintance with the ladies of the neighborhood."

"And I, as one of the local ladies, am well disposed to look forward to acquaintance with him."

A half hour later, Elizabeth stared at the mirror as she rubbed red tint into her cheeks. _My own sphere_. _I shall marry into my own sphere_.

But he didn't deny that he liked her well enough to marry.

She was glad this Mr. Wickham had arrived. Making out the character of a handsome, charming officer for whom she cared nothing at all would be a fine distraction.

Mr. Wickham arrived early for the party. He entered with Captain Denny, and wore his new red coat. With a small flourish he doffed his bicorne cap to all the ladies already present and tucked it under his arm. The line of his trousers fell perfectly straight, and his buttons were polished to a very impressive shine. The uniform of an officer was already very handsome, but Mr. Wickham's appearance and address was superior to the other officers. A little like how Mr. Darcy was so much more handsome than every other gentleman.

He was introduced to Elizabeth and offered her a handsome smile. It reminded Elizabeth of how Mr. Darcy smiled when she first met him.

Elizabeth smiled back. "My mother and aunt raved about you, I'd thought they were giving you a false account."

"And now?"

"All hopes dashed. You are as impressive in person as reported."

"It does not speak well for my gallantry that I delight in dashing the hopes of ladies in _that_ matter. Your lovely sister spoke highly of _you_ and as I believed her, I am only disappointed that she did not speak highly enough."

Mr. Wickham delivered his reply with an excellent air. Elizabeth said, "I do sincerely hope you shall enjoy our society."

"It was the promise of such society that convinced me this must be the regiment for me. Mr. Denny is an old friend, and I knew his promise of good company will be fulfilled."

"You could not have found a finer neighborhood than Meryton."

Elizabeth went to the table with the coffee and tea. "Mr. Wickham, how would you like your cup?"

"Sugar, two teaspoons, though that _you_ prepare it shall do more than the sugar to make it sweet."

"That is a _sweet_ thought." Elizabeth smiled at Wickham and handed him the cup.

He sipped it. "I can taste the care you placed into it."

"Are you certain it is not the sugar you taste?"

"Entirely, what I taste is the sweetness of your hands."

There was something pleasant about flirting again when it meant nothing. Everything had become so fraught and meaningful with Darcy of late. Mr. Wickham was as handsome as promised, but she would never have that desperate desire for him to touch her and keep her with him, even though it would be wrong.

Soon it was time for the card games to start. After her conversation with Lydia and Darcy during the afternoon, Elizabeth could not talk with her mother. Not for any duration. So instead of joining the low stakes table with Mama and Jane, she grabbed a piece of knitwork she was doing for the poor box and sat on a couch at the edge of the room.

After a minute Mr. Wickham sat next to her.

Elizabeth smiled at him. "Should you not join one of the tables?"

"I would much rather play for pennies against you."

Elizabeth smiled at the compliment. "I can admit the conversation of an amiable man, like yourself, is preferable to solitude."

Elizabeth and Wickham set up a game of piquet. Wickham was either not a good player, or he intentionally allowed her to win. However, he was a _very_ good conversationalist. Elizabeth could not stop thinking about Darcy. Both he and Wickham were very conversable men who knew how to entertain a woman in a conversation.

Wickham was more naturally charming, but he seemed enthused by being able to charm. He wanted to be liked, while Darcy thought flirtatious sallies were as much an obligation as a pleasure. Though Darcy was delighted when he made her laugh. Mr. Wickham was different. Elizabeth was sure _he_ had never stood against the walls of a ballroom thinking of Latin.

Darcy was completely superior in substance, even if only equal at first impression.

Mr. Wickham agreed that he liked the appearance of Meryton very much and that everything he had seen of the society was excellent. They agreed that the officers of the regiment were the best company of such men in England. Further, they agreed Hertfordshire was very pretty in the winter.

Elizabeth said, "You shall hear no objection from me as to the beauty of Meryton, but I spent my girlhood here, a preference is natural."

"Yes. My earliest years were the happiest of my life. I confess as beautiful as Hertfordshire is, I shall always have a preference for the county I spent my boyhood in."

"What happy land saw those first years?"

"I grew up on the estate my father managed as steward, Pemberley in Derbyshire. It has a fine mansion, and a prettier park and lands does not exist in England."

Elizabeth smiled with great warmth. "Why, that is Mr. Darcy's estate. Did you know him at all as a boy?"

"Mr. Darcy!" Wickham pulled back and palely stared at Elizabeth. "You are acquainted with Mr. Darcy?"

"He resides with Mr. Bingley — the gentleman who just leased Netherfield Park. It is the largest house in the neighborhood."

"Yes, Mr. Bingley…" Wickham frowned.

"Do you know Mr. Bingley?"

"We are not acquainted. But I do know of him as a friend of Mr. Darcy. Is Mr. Darcy to be here for long?"

"I fear not past December. Do tell me what you know of him. I am a most curious about how Mr. Darcy behaved when he was younger and among his own people."

"I do not know how much I can say — we've not been intimate for many years. We played together as lads. Mr. Darcy's father was my godfather. However, much of the connection ended when he died in a hunting accident."

Elizabeth started. Darcy had said his father killed himself. Oh, yes. He had said only the lawyer knew besides his uncle. Darcy had trusted her with such a significant truth. He trusted her.

With happiness, Elizabeth said enthusiastically, "You must renew the acquaintance while here. Mr. Darcy will be pleased by the chance that brought him together with a childhood companion."

Mr. Wickham frowned and shook his head. "Matters have come between us. We both dislike each other, and I do not think he would welcome my company."

"Oh." Elizabeth drew a little back from Mr. Wickham. If Mr. Darcy disliked him, there must be something dislikeable about him. She had already decided Wickham had more charm than character. Perhaps he had no character at all.

They played in silence, and Elizabeth won a round. With a flourish Mr. Wickham handed Elizabeth a two-pence piece which had been agreed as the nominal wager for the game. "For the pretty lady."

Elizabeth took the hard coin and smiled coldly. Wickham said, "I see you take Mr. Darcy's side without knowing any of the particulars."

"Forgive me, but is that not natural? He has been a good friend to me."

"You have hardly known him long enough to _really_ know his character. You say the acquaintance has been of not much more than a month's duration."

"It is not the duration as much as the depth of friendship which matters."

"Good god! The depth of friendship?" Mr. Wickham squinted at her. "I had understood your condition and connections to be…very poor. You mean to say _he_ has sought you out with some regularity?"

Elizabeth was offended. "Do you doubt he could be friends with someone beneath him? That _you_ have failed to keep his good opinion does not mean it is impossible to gain. Our minds are similar and we enjoy each other's conversation. It is not mysterious. He is clever and kind, and he has that ability, valued so greatly by me, of being able to make me laugh. But _you_ do not want to hear his praises sung."

"I'm only exceedingly surprised — the Darcy family is haughty. They do not associate with those below them."

"You're wrong. Mr. Darcy has shown no improper pride, he willingly seeks me out, he even showed friendship to my sister — the one who married a blacksmith. You may insult him, but I am convinced he is better than you."

Elizabeth crossed her arms and sat back stiffly.

"Good God — you sound as though you are in love with him."

The words felt like a hard slap. She was in love with Mr. Darcy. She'd really known it already.

She was _happy_.

She had always thought she knew what happiness was, that she had always been happy. But with Darcy, she was so much happier than ever before. He was too proud. _I shall marry in my own station_. But even though he was proud, he was such a good man. There would be a gaping void when he went.

"Don't look so depressed." Wickham's face was hard and ugly. "He'll take you with him. He plans to make you his mistress."

Elizabeth sneered back. "Mr. Darcy is an honorable gentleman. Unlike you, who are no gentleman at all."

Elizabeth began to rise, but despite her snapped response, she wondered. He had begged her to take any escape and to not care about being respectable. Was he trying to say that he wanted her to come under his protection? Maybe all she needed to do to be happy with him was to smile and tell him that she would do _anything_ for him if he would let her.

Mr. Wickham's hand shot forward to grab her upper arm and force her to sit. Elizabeth tried to squirm away from the suddenly awful man, but she was not yet prepared to make a scene.

"I beg you to listen to me. He seduced my sister and then abandoned her. For your own sake, I beg you to be on your guard."

"Your sister?" Elizabeth gasped. "Abandoned her? I don't believe you — he did not, he would not."

"Miss Elizabeth, he made my sister his mistress. No man would invent such a story. I would never say it, if I was not worried for your very soul. You can see how horrific to any respectable sensibility his behavior was. My father had been such a dear friend to his father. Yet caring _nothing_ for family ties he callously used and ruined and abandoned my sister. Mr. Darcy is a cruel, amoral man."

Darcy had admitted that he had taken women to bed. Was Mr. Wickham's sister really one of them? Elizabeth stared at him.

Wickham said, "My sister was nineteen. A lively girl like you, also penniless as my mother spent everything my father earned. Mr. Darcy liked her appearance very much then, but after only a few years she was too old for him, and he dropped her. You may love Mr. Darcy, but he is _not_ your friend. He only wants to take his pleasure with you and then he will abandon you as well."

"You hate him. But I know him better; he would never be so cruel as you claim. I trust him."

"I do hate him. I would dearly love it if his scheme to make you his mistress was prevented. Though it will not hurt him much, he has put more than a month into grooming you, and I would like to see his time wasted. You are a fine woman, and he'll not easily find another so attractive. Unless you mean to become his whore, be on your guard."

Elizabeth stood and went to the table where her mother and Jane sat.

"I am tired and feel a little sick. I am going to my room."

As Elizabeth left the room, she saw Mr. Wickham stand and walk to another table. With an easy smile he asked to become part of the next round.

Elizabeth walked up the stairs, and then stood in a cold hallway with her forehead against one of the doors. What had she been doing? Hugging him? Saying, "Oh, I wish we didn't need to part." Begging him to tell her if he'd been with women. She'd followed Mama's advice and started touching herself, just above her breasts, so he'd look down.

Did she really wish to become Darcy's whore?

Elizabeth pulled down the ladder and climbed into the attic room. She sat on the bed she shared with Jane and cried. She was so dirty. Mr. Wickham must have realized that she hadn't been a respectable girl opposed to becoming his mistress. He despised her now that he saw, and she deserved it.

Would he treat her like Wickham's sister? Promise money and happiness, and then leave her alone and heartbroken?

She didn't believe it at all. Darcy would never seduce and then callously abandon a woman.

Maybe Miss Wickham had been in love with Darcy, like Elizabeth had begun to love him. Maybe _she_ had seduced him. Elizabeth imagined a woman, herself or a fuzzy girl who looked like Mr. Wickham, talking to Darcy. "Just kiss me, touch me, hold me. I know we cannot marry; I do not care."

He would smile at her. They would kiss, and she would cling to his arms while he whispered about how desperate he was to have her.

It was dark and the room became freezing. She heard the guests downstairs leaving, and saw people walking away carrying torches or lanterns. The rumbling sound from the carriages rolling away. Elizabeth hurriedly stripped out of her clothes and pulled on her nightwear. She couldn't stop imagining Darcy touching her, pressing his hands everywhere. Whispering promises of love. She ached from the fantasy.

Elizabeth jumped into the bed, and buried herself under the heavy blankets, waiting for Jane.

At last Jane came upstairs. As she undressed, she asked worriedly, "Lizzy, what was the matter? Did Mr. Wickham say something? Tell me."

"No, nothing. Nothing. I just had a headache."

"It is more than that. Do tell me."

"I _can't_. Not about this."

Jane scooted into the bed, climbing over Elizabeth, and then they cuddled together for warmth in the unheated room. It would be dreadful if Jane were not always there.

"I will despise Wickham for you, if you wish."

Elizabeth giggled. "You never despise anyone."

"I can make an exception."

"I do not like Wickham, but _he_ is not the problem. And I…I really cannot tell you what has been on my mind. I would disappoint you if you heard."

"You would not."

"Would too."

Jane yawned and kissed Elizabeth's head. "You really can tell me."

She could not tell Jane that since she _knew_ Darcy would not marry her, she ached with a desire to live with him without marriage. Elizabeth sighed and said nothing. Jane drifted off to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

For the next two days it rained, keeping everyone indoors. There was no chance Elizabeth would be about.

Darcy was hopeful. Part of him was sure she wanted to become his mistress, and that was why she embraced him, squeezing her breasts and stomach against him for an instant. She had said she wished they never had to part. She wanted him to ask. Not because she hoped for money, _that_ of course had nothing to do with the matter, but because she held so much affection for him.

When the roads began to dry out, Darcy took to riding along them each morning, hoping to see Elizabeth in private so he could speak with her. But there was no sign of her person. He feared she was avoiding him.

His old _friend_ , Mr. Wickham had joined the regiment, and when Darcy and Bingley dined at Longbourn, he heard from Mrs. Collins that Elizabeth had perhaps quarreled with the handsome new officer. What had Wickham told her?

The weather was clear for several days, and Darcy was sure Elizabeth must be taking walks, even if he could not find her. They had met fairly often during the morning; perhaps she had changed her habits?

If Wickham had filled her head with some story, he needed to explain. He just needed to speak to her.

At last, five days after meeting Lydia, Darcy saw Elizabeth in the afternoon skirting along a hedge. When she heard the patter of his horse approaching, she looked about as though she wished to run, but knew there was nowhere to hide. He vaulted off his horse and walked to her.

She smiled uneasily at him, and then blushed very red and looked down.

There was something so winsome and touching about the confused look on her face. It made him want to enfold her in his arms and swear all would be well forever and ever. The afternoon sun brought a burnished glow to the curls of hair that framed her face. She wore blue gloves, and Darcy realized there was tear along the shoulder of her coat that had been sewn together with a rougher fabric.

Elizabeth looked to the side, staring through the grey branches of the low hedge at a line of trees across the stubbled field. She would not meet his eyes, but she was blushing, not pale. Was that a good sign?

Darcy wanted to say something clever and charming. But any memorized phrase, any joke, would profane how he felt. There would be time enough to amuse her later. "E-E-Elizabeth."

She looked at him, her eyes shining clear, and she bit her lip.

Darcy made himself take her arm, while leading the horse with his other hand, as he often did. "I have not seen you of late. I began to fear you avoided me."

"Oh."

Elizabeth's voice was blank, not denying the charge. But she didn't try to pull away. She squeezed his arm in a tight grasp. Her hand was so petite and fine. He knew there was so much sensation in the hand. She could run that hand over his cheek and person. And then they could hold hands.

More than anything he just wanted to hold her hand, smoothing their palms against each other, feeling each other in that simple way.

There was a woods on the far side of the field they walked along. Darcy pushed himself to say something, "I heard you met an old acquaintance of mine. A Mr. Wickham."

Darcy searched her face. She flinched and blushed. Looking towards the woods that they were approaching she said, "Yes. I met him."

There was heavy lead in his stomach. "What did he… You were told something by him. Something about me. Please…tell me what he said."

Elizabeth looked at him. Her eyes were round with sympathy. "I can't. But… I did not believe the… I know you would have acted in a way you believe to be right…" she trailed off and looked away, red faced. "I cannot speak about it."

"But you will avoid me because of what _he_ said. I tell you, he has attacked my family."

"I don't avoid you because of what _he_ said."

"But you are avoiding me?"

They reached the edge of the wood, and Darcy led Elizabeth down a woodsman's path cut through the pollarded trees. "Why are you avoiding me?"

She looked down. Darcy realized as they walked deeper in they now were invisible to those walking about the main lane. Elizabeth chewed on her lower lip, but her grip on his arm tightened. At last she half mumbled, "I am frightened."

It felt like a punch in the stomach. Was he transfigured into some evil villain in her mind who wished to ruin her? "I frighten you? What did he say?" Darcy's voice came out rough.

"No. _You_ don't frighten me. I trust you — all I believe of what he said is something you _said_ you have done. Or something similar. I don't believe you could ever be cruel, or…or that you treated his sister callously."

 _I trust you_. Darcy could breathe again. He could not stand it if he frightened her. So Wickham told her about his liaison with his sister. And now Elizabeth was frightened.

He made them stop.

Elizabeth turned to him. Her nose was red from the cold. Their gazes held. He spoke softly, "What frightens you?"

Her lips were slightly open, and she panted, her deep eyes not deviating from his. Without quite knowing what he did Darcy pulled her against himself and kissed her.

Elizabeth was stiff for a few seconds, but then she relaxed against his mouth, molding her lips with his. A small beautiful moan arose from the back of her throat.

Her lips were chapped and cold, but as he nibbled and pulled at her lower lip he knew she was sweeter by far than any other woman whose lips he had tasted. He felt light, as though he could float away. Her sweet pressure made him happy and dizzy. It was different and better than anything he'd ever felt before. She was so precious to him.

He drew his tongue over her lips, and then her tongue shyly rubbed against his. Darcy shivered. He softly stroked his hand down the curve of her hip.

Elizabeth put her hands against his chest. She laid the palms flat against his waistcoat.

Then she was gone. The feel of her pushing against him lingered on his chest with the taste of her lips and tongue in his mouth.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." Elizabeth pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. It hid her lips. Her eyes were black, and the blush faded away leaving her skin white. She stared at him in a wide, round manner. "Oh, God — this is wrong — don't come closer. Oh, God."

"Elizabeth, this is right."

"No — no. You cannot marry me — I know you cannot. We cannot—"

"We cannot marry, but we need not. Elizabeth, you know what I want. I want you; come with me, live with me. Let me care for you — we shall be happy."

Elizabeth shook her head. She turned away and held her thin elegant fingers against her mouth again. "I…I love my family too much. I cannot."

"Do not worry. Not about that." Darcy took her hand again, and Elizabeth did not pull it away. "We can use misdirection. No one would be shocked if you took a post as a governess or lady's companion to leave Mr. Phillips. I can make everything look respectable. Mrs. Collins might suspect, but if there is an illusion of propriety, people do not often challenge it."

She stared at him, biting her lip.

He squeezed her hand. "I promise, it would not mean you could not write your friends, and you would be able to visit them whensoever you pleased. I would not rip you away from them. I know how your affectionate heart is tied to them. Please, Elizabeth, I will make sure you do not lose them when you live with me."

"You have thought about this a great deal. Have you always planned to seduce me?"

"Have I seduced you?"

She didn't look away, but let him pull her hand close to his heart.

Her lips were so sweet and entrancing. He leaned forward towards her, but Elizabeth pulled back. She stared into his eyes, searching him. "Wickham said you have wished to seduce me since we met. Is that true? Do you plan to seduce me and then abandon me once you've had your satisfaction? Should I…trust you?"

Her voice caught on the last words.

"You already said you trust me."

"Yes."

They kissed again. Elizabeth pulled her hand through his hair. Darcy closed his eyes and concentrated just on the feel of her lips molding against his. She poked her tongue out towards him, and the kiss became open mouthed and deep. It went on and on. She put one arm around his back and pulled herself tight against him, her belly against his, and he held her close and tight.

Then she pulled away again. "I cannot do it. Oh, I cannot. Not even if Jane does not learn of it. Forgive me, forgive me."

He could not speak. He needed to convince her. But he could not speak.

"Oh." Her voice was soft. "Fitzwilliam, I do not reject _you_."

She hesitantly laid her hand on his arm. An unexpected pain stabbed in his chest, and acid arose in Darcy's throat. He'd never — she was not being coy. He knew her too well to think that. How had he not known she would refuse his offer? It was appallingly obvious.

"You do reject me." His voice came out harsh, and Elizabeth flinched back. Darcy's hands shot forward to imprison hers. "You want me. You, you told me you wish for this. Don't change your mind _now_. Not after you kissed me."

"I know! I know I'm no better than a whore and a…a liar. I taunted you with what allurements I had, and I won't do what I promised…I _know_."

Elizabeth sobbed.

"No, no." Darcy rubbed at her hands. He felt horrible. "You aren't. You are perfect, and adorable. You…you are conflicted. It is right for you to want to do what you think is right. It is, it is. I don't blame you for being unsure. I do not. You have every right to refuse me yet. I should not have said that. Oh, Lizzy, I don't want you to feel anything but happiness."

Elizabeth looked back up at him. She had never been so beautiful.

Reason, he should attempt to reason with her.

"I _have_ thought on this subject. Many women who have taken lovers have been respected. Even in the Bible. Look at Abraham, he took a concubine. That is like a mistress. It was not wrong then. The…the need to only live together following a sanctified marriage, it is only a modern thing. There were counsellors during the time of Charles II who argued, after it was clear his queen would never bear an heir, that it was only Catholic superstitions that said it would be wrong for him to marry a second wife. I would not think less of you, my uncle would not. Reasonable people would not. You should not think ill of yourself. I do not think religion is so clear in its objections. Remember the gospels said the sum of all laws is to love thy neighbor as thyself. The purpose of prohibitions is to keep women from being harmed by unscrupulous men. I would always care for you. So you see, we would not be doing wrong."

"I doubt that you could find a theologian who would agree with your interpretation." Elizabeth looked up at him. Her cheeks were wet. But she smiled a little. She said earnestly, "I believe that you would not despise me. But… I owe something to…to society and myself."

"Damn society!"

Elizabeth smiled at how violently he had sworn.

Darcy rubbed his forehead. "I beg your pardon — I should not speak so in front of a lady."

A little of Elizabeth's usual manner appeared in how she quirked her eyebrows. Darcy felt a flush of amused embarrassment; he was asking her to be his mistress, and apologizing for the use of an oath.

The lightening of the mood lent an edge of hope to Darcy's next words. "Society can be fooled, and it is mostly inhabited by hypocrites. Its opinion should not be respected, only managed. And…and, I cannot believe the Almighty sees this pleasant touching, this happiness of two persons, I cannot believe that He treats it as so serious a crime as murder, or — or cruelty, or even indifference to the starving poor."

She was listening to him.

"Please, please — I only want to have you with me. I want to help you."

"Help. You wish to _help_ me. You — oh, you are such a — I do not need help. I am happy. Have you not seen that I am happy?"

"You won't be. Not forever. Lizzy, there is a luminescent glow that shines from your soul; it will be blotted out if you live with those creatures forever."

"I will be happy. I tell you I will! I swore to never let such external conditions make me unhappy. I can survive this way. I don't mind it so much."

"Please, I can give you everything. You will be happier. I could help Jane find a dowry. I could—"

The way Elizabeth's face closed showed he had made a mistake. A stupid one.

Her voice rose as she spoke. "You can give me things. I don't need _things_. I don't need to sell myself. I won't let you use my body to get a dowry for Jane."

Darcy smiled, he could only smile at her, and shook his head. "I do not want to use you. Without _your_ desire, I could never enjoy your favors. I do not wish to buy a right to do something to you. I do not wish to _do_ anything to you. I wish to enjoy that sensuous bond _with_ you."

She was watching him now, with something deep in her eyes. Darcy took her hand again, fondled it. "Oh, it is not your body; it is your mind that draws me — your adorable and perfect character. I feel far more affection and concern for you than I have ever felt for any other woman. It has always been who you are that drew me. I want you in my bed, I want you to talk with me, I want you to care for me, I want _you_ because it is _you_."

"Oh…" Her face was soft, and her lips pouted. She brushed lightly — oh, so lightly — her fingers against his cheek. "You hope to make me forget myself with words of love."

 _Love._ Darcy felt a punch in the gut. He'd sworn to never fall in love _._ He couldn't lie to Elizabeth. "I do not love you — you know I swore to never fall in love."

Her face fell. Darcy felt like a cur. If only he could find some way to make her see that his affection would be enough.

She said quietly, "That is why you will not marry me? Because you do not love me."

"Marriage!" Darcy felt a sharp sting of irritation that cut through his anxiety to find a way to convince her. "I am not some Squire Booby who will marry the virtuous maiden if she refuses his protection enough times. Is that what you hope?"

" _No!_ I have never thought _you_ would marry me." Then she growled. "I would not marry you even if you asked. After all _you_ don't love me. You've sworn to never fall in love."

"Lizzy—"

"Only those who love me may speak to me so familiarly. _You_ don't love me. You want me to ruin myself and throw everything away, and you don't even love me."

"Love is a foolish fantasy. No one should let it govern their life. Don't be a ninnyhammer."

"It is _my_ fantasy. I do not _want_ to be so clever as _you_."

Darcy realized that had not been the best argument he could make. "I do care for you, very, very much. I adore your conversation. And I have such an ardent desire to hold you and kiss you and to place you in my bed. I have dreamt about how happy we will be together. It simply is that I do not love you. Please, Lizzy, do not give up a chance to be happy."

The hardness in her eyes faded away. He tried to take her hands again, but she did not let him, and he would not pursue her. She shivered in the cold wind. Her nose and cheeks were red from crying earlier.

Elizabeth asked, "Why don't you marry me? If you are determined to marry a woman you do not love, why not me? What you claim to feel is very like what most men would call love. We _would_ be happy together."

"That is impossible and you know it. I do not understand why you even insist on asking. As I _am not_ in love with you, I will not consider such a thing. I thought you were too clever to even ask."

"I thought you were too honorable to make such a request as _you_ made," Elizabeth snapped back.

Darcy had no response.

"You beg me to live with you without protection of law or custom, in a situation where I could be freely thrown aside when you tire of me, but _you_ become angry if I suggest we live together in a moral manner? I _know_ you are too fair minded to seriously defend that."

Darcy swallowed, but while she was talking and reasoning he had hope. "You are right. My anger was wrong. But it is impossible to marry you and—"

"I do not think that word means what you think it does."

"Possible or not I _will_ not marry you, but I would never throw you aside."

"Like you never threw Miss Wickham aside?"

Darcy felt a surge of anger towards Wickham, and a little annoyance towards Elizabeth. "Whatever Wickham said, I did not abandon Miss Wickham. We had tired of each other, and I gave her four thousand pounds. I believe she has already married. I care for you far more than I did her, and I would give you twice as much."

"Oh, you idiot!" Elizabeth threw her hands in the air. "I said I trust you. I don't care in the slightest how much money you would give me when you tire of me."

"I…perhaps you would tire of me instead."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Even if you do not _love_ me… Please, I…I will not agree to what you ask. Are you certain we cannot marry?"

"I cannot. I would be a laughingstock. I would be shamed before my friends."

"You do not care so much. You say I should not care about the opinion of hypocrites in society, and you should not either."

"It is not the same. We could mislead society if you became my mistress, but not if we married."

"I will not lie to my friends. I will not lie to my sister. Do you really mean to beg me to?"

He couldn't. He never would lie to his friends in such a way.

Elizabeth's face was hard.

Oh, God, he was losing her. He somehow knew, really knew, that she would never agree.

"Please, Elizabeth. Lizzy, don't do this."

He began to blink away tears.

She brushed at his cheeks, wiping away his tears with her gloves. "Oh, Fitzwilliam. Are you certain you do not love me? This hurts you so. Fitzwilliam, _I_ love you. Does that matter to you? I know it would be such a shameful thing for you to marry someone like me, but we would be very happy together."

"I swore. I never will love anyone. I will not be stupid like my father. I will not let this _insanity_ take control of me. I will not do it. I swore."

"Oh, yes. Because of your father." Was that pity in her eyes?

She brushed her hand along his cheek once again. Then Elizabeth shook her head and stepped away, firmly and confidently.

"Fitzwilliam, what you ask I am determined to share only with the man I love and who loves me. I am determined to marry, and to marry only for that deepest affection."

"Do you want me to say that I love you? Would you come with me then? Is the need for me to claim _that_ stupidity so great?"

"I would be a sinner if I went with you. It makes no difference. I hope I would not have come with you if you had said that. I…I am determined to act in a way that Jane can be proud of me. But…remember, I love you, and I wish you could understand."

"Don't be a fool. Love destroys people."

Tears beaded at the edges of her eyes, a drop fell down her cheek, joining the others she had cried earlier.

"Don't be sad for me!" Darcy felt sick at the thought he could be pitied. " _I_ am happy — you are the one who is mad, you plan to ruin your life for a hopeless dream. You shall never marry — I am real. I care for you. You do not _really_ love me, for if you did you'd forget every other consideration. Please, Lizzy, I beg you. Come with me."

She only shook her head with that sad smile. The tears left shiny tracks on her cheeks.

"Jane — I can help her to marry. She could have a dowry. More than five thousand. Much more — I say this not to buy you, but, but…just because I do not love you does not mean I do not—"

"Jane and I shall be well."

"Jane won't be well. You know it. You talk about how desperate she is. I've seen nothing of your strength of character in her. She will despair. Save her from that. Do you imagine Bingley will marry her?"

Elizabeth's look showed she had that hope.

"It won't happen. It won't. You said you would do anything to give her a dowry. For her sake, come live with me."

"We shall be well. Somehow we shall be well — I worry for you." She took a long deep breath. Then another. He knew he did not love her and that she did not really love him, but his heart broke at the look in her eyes. "We should not speak again. I beg you, do not speak to me again. Goodbye, Mr. Darcy, and God bless you."

She stepped forward and leaned up quick to kiss him on the cheek.

She walked away.


	13. Chapter 13

Elizabeth walked away brushing at her eyes.

What Darcy asked was a sin. Good women did not do such things. If she had gone with him she would have lost Jane and her friends.

Charlotte might advise her to be pragmatic and turn back and tell Darcy she'd changed her mind.

Had she just made a terrible mistake?

Tears covered her cheeks. They were salty on her lips. The cold wind whined through the trees, shaking the bare branches and biting into her coat.

Poor Fitzwilliam, if…if she found the right words he would lose his fear of falling in love. If she had agreed to go with him as his mistress, she could have eventually convinced him to love her and marry her.

Elizabeth almost stumbled over her feet. She nearly turned around.

She was _stupid_.

Horrid sobs choked their way out of her chest. Elizabeth collapsed against the trunk of a mighty oak tree and curled her arms around her knees.

She had fancied herself in love. Her dear friendship was gone. Hope was gone. He was right; she never would marry, because she loved _him_.

How could he beg her to be his mistress? How, even if she did flirt with him too much, how did he think she would agree… She was a respectable girl. A good girl. Jane's sister.

He loved her; he just had not realized it yet. He would come back and beg her to forgive him for what he asked and to marry him. And she would smile, and say it had just been that he was educated poorly, and she loved him so, and of course she would marry him.

Their kisses. Memories she would have forever. Moments of perfect happiness. He wanted her to be happy, but she could not be happy _that_ way.

Elizabeth's thin handkerchief was soaked and freezing. She shivered in the cold wind.

 _I do not love you_.

It hurt to hear him saying it again and again in her mind. But she loved him for it too. He was blunt, and unwilling to engage in pretense or deception. If only he hadn't said that… Damn him for it. She would have gone with him in that moment when her heart was so full. _I want you in my bed because it is you._

It was freezing. Elizabeth's teeth chattered and she knew she must stand and return home to get warm. She must. She could not let anyone — anyone except Jane — see her this way. She could not stop weeping.

Things should have been better. Elizabeth pictured him as he looked after she pushed herself away. She imagined him saying, _I care nothing about Lydia, I care nothing about money, marry me. I love you. I swore I never would love anyone, but I love you_.

They were kissing again, and the hand on her hip reached back and squeezed her bottom…while the other hand reached for her bosom. His look was so tender; the way it had been when he spoke of the light in her soul.

Elizabeth stood. Her eyes ached from the tears, and her stomach felt empty.

She jumped up and down and clapped her hands together and briskly walked back and forth before jogging in place. She was freezing, her hands still felt numb from the cold, her nose was running, and the handkerchief was half frozen. She should not have sat still in this weather for so long.

After several minutes Elizabeth paused and panted, taking in deep breaths of cold air that burned at her lungs.

She forced herself to laugh. It was permissible to _fantasize_ about such a great rich gentleman — but absurd for her to forget they were just fantasies.

No. It wasn't a fantasy. He would come back.

Elizabeth laughed at the thought. She was being a goose. But in her gut it felt like a certainty. Someday he would realize. She no longer felt like crying. Maybe he would ride to her house and wait for her.

Not likely, it would take much longer, perhaps several weeks of missing their conversations before he understood.

Even if it was a silly thought, Elizabeth decided not to suppress it.

She walked along the bare hedges, past trees with their leaves fallen, past houses with crawling vines covering the walls, and past fields stripped bare.

At last she reached Meryton. There was a well near the edge of town, and she drew the cold water out, and splashed her face.

The edges of the brown and white timber-framed buildings seemed sharper in the clear cold air. All the signs were familiar and the town was bedecked in festive Christmas decorations. People called, and she waved back. A few carts and carriages were pulled through the streets of the market town, and with an easy step Elizabeth walked along the side of the road until she reached the house and offices of her uncle near the middle of town.

Jane was in the drawing room, and her dear sister could tell there was something amiss with Elizabeth when they embraced. Charlotte and Mary were visiting, and they were there along with Mrs. Phillips and Mama, and it was impossible for Elizabeth to tell Jane her story — and she was not even sure she wished to.

But Elizabeth managed to smile.

DODODODO

Lady Lucas said, "It was such a surprise — Mr. Darcy leaving so suddenly with no leave or notice. He seemed so steady. It must be something serious."

Jane and Elizabeth had called at Lucas Lodge, and Jane carefully watched how her sister stiffened when Lady Lucas returned to the main subject of gossip for the past two days.

The day before Darcy left, Lizzy returned home and desperately hugged her and spent the evening talking with a feverish quickness. Then, when Elizabeth thought Jane was asleep, she started to cry.

Elizabeth hadn't wanted to tell her about it yet, so Jane embraced Elizabeth without saying anything and squeezed her until they fell asleep. Yet, Lizzy had not seemed nearly so broken as Jane had expected. She was sad, but there was still some of that light in her eyes.

Jane was glad for that. She had been so worried for Elizabeth.

Jane knew Lizzy must have done something foolish, like confessing her love to Mr. Darcy. Why couldn't some gentleman who might have married Lizzy visited Netherfield and made her sister fall in love with him? Not the haughty, careless nephew of an earl.

Darcy should have realized what he was doing to Lizzy, and she hadn't thought he was the sort of man who would make a girl fall in love with him, and then callously abandon her. Bingley had told her he wasn't. But he was.

Jane's attention was pulled back to the room they sat in. Lady Lucas asked, "Eliza, have you any notion? You and Mr. Darcy had become good friends."

Elizabeth shook her head. "No. He said nothing to me about plans to leave."

More callers arrived at Lucas Lodge. It was Mr. Bingley and Miss Bingley. Bingley was taken aback to see her in the room, and instead of his usual friendly greeting, he stiffly inclined his head at her. Had whatever happened between Elizabeth and Darcy led Bingley to wish to avoid her?

Couldn't the dream have lasted a few more weeks?

Lady Lucas asked, "Mr. Bingley, can you explain exactly what business called your friend away so quickly? He'd promised to dance with my Maria at your ball."

Bingley pulled at his sleeves. It was a characteristic habit of his when he was uncomfortable. Jane had catalogued many such habits in the time she had known him.

After the briefest glance at Elizabeth, he said, "It was a personal matter. But Mr. Darcy loves his estate and had been eager to return to it. It has superb hunting, excellent fields, plenty of birds, and crisp cold weather. I'm not surprised Darcy took the first excuse he could find to leave."

"But it was on such short notice."

"Yes. Mr. Darcy has the resources to do as he pleases, and he is much in the habit of acting quickly once a decision is made."

Jane saw Elizabeth listened intently.

After several minutes more Jane and Elizabeth stood to end their call. Bingley stood with them. "Might I walk you back to Meryton? There is a matter to speak about."

Jane wasn't sure if she felt anxiety or hope. When she nodded at Bingley, he turned to his sister and said, "Caroline, go ahead and call at the Longs and Smiths without me, I'll meet you in Meryton at Mr. Phillips's house."

"But—"

"Not this time."

They walked out into the cold air. Bingley said nothing, but he frowned as he watched his carriage ride away. He did take Jane's arm.

When Bingley said he wanted to speak with her, a tiny hope had flickered to life. Maybe he wanted to ask her to marry. It was an absurd romantic idea which was now entirely gone. His expression was that of a man performing a painful, but necessary duty.

They walked along the path through Sir William's fields. Elizabeth was on Jane's other side. She frowned and clenched her jaw angrily. Jane prepared herself to smile and not appear hurt, no matter what Bingley said. She looked towards him, and his somber eyes studied her closely.

"Miss Bennet, I…I have striven to always act as a gentleman ought in your presence."

"You need not to say anything. You have always been the most amiable and perfect gentleman."

"I fear I might have failed… Mr. Darcy, before he left, he…he told me that it was possible… Miss Bennet, you know that we can never be anything more than friends. We both have forgotten that a little. I see it in your eyes that Darcy was right. Forgive me."

Elizabeth exclaimed, "What did _he_ say?"

"He simply pointed out the danger."

"The danger of marrying a wonderful woman who would make you happy."

Jane exclaimed, " _Lizzy_. Don't."

"You should marry Jane. You know you could come to love her. I see how much you like her; you know how kind and generous she is. You could be happy. You are following Darcy's obsession with…with… He should not have said anything. It is _your_ happiness."

"He is a good friend. He wished to help."

"I know all about the _help_ Mr. Darcy offers. He is a fool. Someday he will realize it."

Mr. Bingley was silent. He looked saddened instead of annoyed.

Elizabeth spoke in a rushed voice, "Do not let your friends dictate how you act. It is _your_ future and happiness. You should trust your heart."

Bingley looked at Jane, and then turned to Elizabeth. Any hope Jane might have ever had was crushed by the sad way Bingley looked at Elizabeth and shook his head.

"Oh, all rich gentlemen are fools. Fools. I despise all your kind. At least you are not near so stupid as your friend."

Elizabeth walked away at a fast pace to create some distance from both of them.

Anxiety for Elizabeth joined the crushed feeling in Jane's chest. She couldn't show Bingley how much she wanted to cry. She glanced at his face and said softly, "Forgive my sister. You know she is not—"

"I know something happened between her and Darcy. I do not blame her at all. If you wished to yell at me as well…"

Jane shook her head and tears prickled in her eyes. She liked him so much. Bingley looked so torn to see her like this.

Jane spoke in a quick teary voice. "We both like each other very much, but I have always known it could never be anything more. Elizabeth lets her imagination run away with her. She is happy to live with how she wishes the world was. But I knew. I beg you to not feel guilty at all. You have done nothing amiss. But you are right, we should talk less. I do like you too much."

"Forgive me. I should never have asked to dance with you."

" _No_. Don't feel that way. Don't. I am _glad_ you have known me. A foolish part of me wishes we could share more than merely friendship, but I would not give any of our conversations up to avoid that _small_ hurt. _Don't_ be unhappy for anything. Please."

Bingley looked into her eyes and some tension in his face relaxed. "I wish…I so wish things were different. But I am glad we have been friends as well. Even though we cannot let ourselves be close friends, we _are_ friends."

"Yes."

The two had reached Meryton, and Elizabeth stood by the entrance to Mr. Phillips's house watching them. They needed to part, but both hesitated.

Bingley stuck his hand out. Jane shook it.

That night Jane stared blankly at the nearly invisible sloped ceiling above the bed. She was piled under a heavy set of blankets and quilts, so even though the room was dark and freezing, only her feet felt cold. The only light was the little bit from the moon that snuck around through the small window.

She'd been living in a romantic fantasy like Elizabeth always did for the last weeks.

She had been stupid, stupid, stupid.

At least she had been sweet and calm. Bingley couldn't possibly know how much she hurt. It would make him unhappy. It was Lydia who deserved to be unhappy, not Mr. Bingley.

She knew. She always knew it would end this way.

Elizabeth had kept pushing. _Maybe, maybe. You are so sweet and beautiful, Jane, nobody who knows you could resist you. Do you like him enough?_

It wasn't Lizzy's fault. She had loved every minute with Bingley. But it hurt so much in her chest now. She had not expected it to hurt so much.

Jane hated it. She hated the way her heart fluttered when she simply saw the smooth curve of his chin. She hated that she could stare entranced at his mannerisms and the way he held his hands as he talked. She hated how her stomach had bubbled when he smiled at her.

When she spoke with Bingley that bitterness she had begun to feel over the years of cutting remarks and deprivation disappeared. She felt happy, warm and girlish. He made her feel safe and _right_ again.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Elizabeth entered the room, quickly opening and shutting the door. She had stayed down in the drawing room finishing a novel in the guttering light of a single tallow candle. Jane was used to that. Sometimes Elizabeth became so deeply involved in a book that she stayed awake hours past her usual sleep time.

Elizabeth softly whispered, "Jane, are you awake yet?"

Jane did not respond. She had never been good at telling anyone, not even Elizabeth, when she was unhappy. And now, she had a little anger towards Elizabeth. If she had not said whatever she said to Darcy, the dream would have continued longer. It could not have hurt worse when it ended.

They would never have good, happy marriages. Neither of them.

If she talked to Elizabeth now, her sister might make her hope again. Elizabeth would say that if she flung herself at Bingley hard enough, she might stick.

Elizabeth pulled off the heavy coat she wore due to the nighttime cold, and then unbuttoned her dress by feel. While they still had a few of the difficult evening gowns that required help to take on and off, Jane and Elizabeth had learned to prefer simpler clothing. Elizabeth always had preferred it.

When Elizabeth pulled off her gown and corset, she volubly shivered at the cold and quickly shoved her nightgown over her head and jumped into bed, snuggling against Jane for warmth.

Jane's mind simply would not leave Bingley alone. Again and again she relived that horrid moment when she had to convince Bingley not to feel guilty. He was so relieved when she begged him not to be unhappy.

She was never going to sleep. "Did you enjoy your book?"

"I could not read. I blew out the candle and sat thinking. Everything is so wrong…"

"Lizzy, don't tell me to try more…" Jane's voice was pleading.

She must have communicated her feeling, because Elizabeth murmured kind sounds and rolled over to squeeze Jane. "This is my fault. At least that it happened now. You must be angry at me."

Jane silently and softly cried.

Elizabeth held her and rubbed her back.

Jane said, "Don't think ill of Mr. Bingley. He was being kind. He knew I liked him too much. He wished to make it clear he had no intentions towards me in the least painful manner he could."

Jane expected Elizabeth to insult Mr. Bingley and then claim that if she just kept trying eventually he would fall in love with her.

Instead Elizabeth rolled onto her back. The bed creaked. She sighed. "You are right. He wanted to be kind. _They_ are fools, but he'll never forget Lydia. Maybe, no one will. I should have known — I should not have pushed you — I just want you to be happy, and now you hurt more."

Lizzy always thought things would work out; she made fast judgments and didn't pay attention. And when it was all over she would smile and say, _At least we are all alive. That is what is important._

"I wanted to be pushed. Do not blame yourself."

Elizabeth said viciously, "At least Bingley is better than Mr. Darcy. At least he didn't—"

Jane took her sister's hand and squeezed it. "What happened?"

Elizabeth stiffened, and Jane felt anxiety for her sister in her stomach. Elizabeth held herself tight in bed.

What could have been said to make Elizabeth react this way? "Please tell me."

"I don't want to tell anyone. I was…I was not good like you, and I nearly…" Elizabeth lay silent. At last she whispered into Jane's ear, "He asked me to be his mistress."

Jane sat up sharply in bed. "He did what!"

Elizabeth snaked her hand out of the covers to place it over Jane's mouth. "Shhh—"

They both slumped down. Elizabeth added, "He did. It does not surprise me you could hardly credit that an acquaintance of ours would act so. But there was no misunderstanding. And I…I nearly said yes. It was only thinking of you and when he said… Oh he is such an idiot. If he was not, I would have gone off and become someone you would need to despise."

Mr. Darcy had asked Elizabeth to be his mistress. He had not been playing with her sister; instead he had offered the only thing any gentleman _could_ offer them. And Elizabeth refused him. Because she didn't want to be someone Jane would despise.

"Lizzy, you love him."

"I do. But he…he wouldn't… If he loved me in turn he _would_ have married me. I couldn't go with him, not for love, not for money. Not when it would separate me from you. He wanted me to lie to my friends and claim I was a governess or something, but it would not have worked. I had to choose between living in sin with him and all who are dear to me."

Jane said furiously, "I would love you still, no matter what you did."

"I know. But you are my perfect Jane, I couldn't do that. Not when you are so good. You would have loved me still, but I couldn't betray my sister."

Lord! Lizzy _should_ have gone with Mr. Darcy. She could have been happy and free from this place. Everyone already despised them. So _that_ did not matter at all. Jane realized that if Bingley had asked her to become his mistress, she would have gone with him without a moment of thought.

"You do not…you do not think less of me because I _was_ tempted?"

" _No_."

Lizzy squeezed her hand and hugged Jane. "I think he does love me. He just doesn't know it yet. Sometimes I am so angry at him, and I can't stop crying. But other times, I believe he'll return someday to marry me."

So her sister was not as miserable as Jane had expected because she was deluded. Jane felt tears come to her eyes. She knew it would never happen. "Lizzy, is that why you did not go with him?"

"No! I told you I could not let myself become someone completely different from you. I only wondered afterwards. When I was crying."

Why did Lizzy always, always, always assume Jane was the perfect girl? Elizabeth was certain she would never imagine doing anything that she was told was wrong. She would never think ill of anybody, she would never, ever _do_ anything.

Jane hated it.

Elizabeth said quietly, "Jane, you don't need to tell me it is a foolish hope and won't happen. My reason says you are right. I know that."

Somehow that made Jane start sobbing, and Elizabeth grabbed and held her, and they cried together. Maybe Jane had her own little hope that Bingley _would_ change his mind. But doing the right thing, being proper, it never brought any happiness.


	14. Chapter 14

The cold winter morning had a sharp clean smell. More than a dozen riders were gathered for the day's hunt dressed in red hunting coats with buttons that gleamed in the early morning sunshine. Their horses stamped and shuffled, blowing out steam. The hounds gathered around Mr. Johnson, Matlock's hunt master, jumping and barking. Matlock stood next to the man talking about their plans for the day.

It was a bright day with few clouds and the gleaming sun that had just peaked over the horizon made sharp shadows. There was snow on the ground but the day would soon heat to a comfortable temperature.

Darcy sat a little away from anyone else. He watched as his cousin Derwent checked the straps one last time and gave advice to his seven-year-old son who held a good seat on his white spotted pony. Today was to be the boy's first hunt.

Footmen circulated among the guests, holding trays with small goblets of brandy that were handed up to the waiting riders.

Darcy's horse shifted under him impatiently. Soon. Just a few more minutes. The huntsmen had positively identified that a fox was nested in a certain covert, and if by ill luck that should be blank there were many other possibilities for sport today. The ladies of the families hosted at Matlock for Christmas were gathered around, to see them all off, and a few were riding their horses sidesaddle, prepared to follow the hunt along easier roads.

Georgiana stood somewhat apart from the rest of the group, holding a book and looking between the assembled riders and the trees. Darcy rode to her, "Awake to see us off?"

"I would have stayed abed, but there was so much noise with everyone moving about. Do promise it will be just us in our rooms and maybe Richard and Uncle Charlie for some time tomorrow."

"Certainly. No one else need see you open your presents. What shall you do today?"

"Read, mainly. One of Anne Radcliffe's novels. You know I am not intimate with any of the other ladies. I wish I didn't have to be here when Uncle Charlie has these parties. It was exciting as a child, but now that I'm old and sixteen, I am expected to be in the drawing room with all the ladies for half the day, and they are boring."

"Yes. The loss of the idyllic time of childhood. Now that you are _old and sixteen_ you must be part of society."

Georgiana glanced around to ensure no one was watching them and stuck her tongue out at Darcy. "Not everyone is positively ancient as you are."

"It is a burden you too will bear one day."

A horse ambled up to them, with a very attractive woman perched sportively on the sidesaddle. She had a full figure, displayed by her smart blue riding outfit. She brightly smiled at Darcy. "Fine day for a hunt, Mr. Darcy, fine day."

"Only now that you have arrived. 'Twas a somber morn until I saw you, Lady Margaret. Are you to follow the hunt?" Darcy knew that she would. She was the niece of Matlock's wife, Lady Susan. Matlock had asked Darcy to keep an eye on her this morning.

"Yes." She smiled eagerly. "I adore a good gallop."

Darcy had known Lady Margaret since she was quite young, of course, but had not thought of her frequently. She had come out the previous season, and he had danced with her at a half dozen balls. But her first season had been cut short when Lady Susan's father died.

Darcy looked at her appreciatively. The girl he remembered had turned into a fine looking woman, and from the erect, confident way she held herself, she knew it well. Besides the neatly fitted blue dress and tailored coat to keep warm in the cold, she wore a jaunty small brimmed cap, with a little fringe of white lace falling from the front over her forehead.

"You are exceptionally fetching this morning. I confess, it _was_ a fine day before you arrived, but it is _far_ prettier now."

Georgiana grabbed at her throat and gagged. Darcy silently pled with Lady Margaret to not look towards his sister.

Lady Margaret blushed at Darcy's praise and looked down before saying with a smile, "Oh you are too kind. But you always are."

Now Georgiana was snickering silently. Following Darcy's gaze, Lady Margaret turned to Georgiana and said, "Good morning, Georgie. It is so sweet of you to see us off for the hunt."

Georgiana shrugged and didn't say anything. Lady Margaret's smile became fixed and she shifted a little uncomfortably.

Darcy frowned at Georgiana and gestured towards Lady Margaret with his eyes. Georgiana had seen Margaret once or twice a year since she was born. Her shyness was no excuse to be rude this time.

Catching his message, Georgiana said, "Of course, _Grettie_ , you know how sweet I always am. And I never sleep anyways, so it was no difficulty."

"Georgiana."

"I apologize, I do sleep, on occasion. I did not mean to deceive you. It was just a little joke. Really, you are very brave to ride after them. I hate sidesaddles. But Fitzwilliam will make a good sight on his horse, so I guess it is worth the risk. You will have the more entertaining morning I dare say. Really, I do think so." Georgiana finished and blushed at the ground.

Darcy rubbed at his forehead.

Lady Margaret smiled. "Of course, Georgie, I know you prefer to read, but I _am_ glad to see you this morning. I love having you around so much. We are such good friends."

Georgiana glanced at Darcy, and to avoid a further rebuke, she hastily nodded, "Yes, great friends. I'm pleased to see you off. Very." Everyone was silent, then Georgiana exclaimed, "Oh, I have not spoken to Richard yet this morning! _Au revoir_. Don't fall."

Darcy stared at Georgiana as she walked away. She should try harder.

"Your sister is such a fond creature. I like her excessively."

Was that sincerity or politeness in her eyes? Darcy hoped it was politeness. He smiled at Lady Margaret. "I greatly admire a woman on horseback, even if my sister never warmed to the exercise."

Lady Margaret smiled with pleasure and patted the neck of her horse. "It is just that I love Lady so greatly. I take any excuse to ride her."

"Then it is fortuitous that your natural preferences allow us gentlemen to see you displayed to such great advantage."

She blushed and smiled at him, straightening further, which pushed her ample breasts out. She really did make a delightful picture. "Do you really think I look so very well?"

"Of course."

The hunt master sounded a long note from his horn and then shouted, "Everyone look towards me. Towards me. Towards me."

He then sounded the loud _taroo_ , _taroo_ of the horn twice more and released the dogs. The group followed along. At first they moved slowly over easy ground, so the women in their sidesaddles had no trouble keeping up with the men. Lady Margaret kept next to Darcy, holding the saddle with confident ease, her fine figure bouncing with the movement of the horse. She had an eager smile, and stray locks of her hair floated in the wind.

They rode along a turnpike where the hooves of the horses sharply click-clacked on the packed rock. The path then went up a sloped hill and then they reached the woods.

The hunt master directed the pack to the covert where the fox had been spotted the previous day. Luck was with them. The sniffing brown and white hounds with their droopy ears ran into the covert and the red furred fox shot out of it. The men in front shouted, "Tally-ho," and the horn blew a staccato series of notes to grab the attention of all the riders, and then the gallop was on.

They followed the animal through a field. The snow lay white on the ground, and the fox's paw prints left an easy path. Darcy's fine stallion kept him near the front of the riders, and he shouted in elation at his horse and the dogs. The thick muscles of the horse bunched and released as the ground disappeared under him.

The fox easily stayed in front of the hounds. The field ended and the fox ran across the road to the nearest market town. He squirmed through a hole in the fence which bordered the road and ran past a few watching sheep. The hounds leaped over the fence or crawled under it.

Darcy saw that Lady Margaret had followed so far, and he smiled at her and with a touch to his top hat leapt over the most difficult point of the fence and with a shout urged his horse to gallop after the running pack.

The new field was bordered with a tall hedge that the fox ran into and then out the other side. The men followed by leaping over, but it was too dangerous of a jump for women using sidesaddles to take. The hunters rode over the ridges in the field, little built up rows that had been produced by centuries of plowing.

The hounds bayed and barked as the fox ran towards a wilderness thicket at the edge that went steeply upslope. Running into the thicket the fox managed to shake the pursuing hounds. The group pulled to a stop as the hunt master directed the hounds to come back from an empty clump of trees. They ran around heading to the next wooded hiding place, their noses low to the ground as they tried to pick up the scent again.

Darcy rode to Richard and Derwent. Little Charlie sat next to his father trying to imitate his father's mannerisms as he stared at the pack.

Richard let out a loud whoop when Darcy halted next to them.

Darcy said, "Fine sport. Fine sport, how long do you suppose it'll take the pack to find the trail again?"

Derwent replied, "Less than five minutes more. Mr. Johnson has a genius. This is the best pack of foxhounds in the north of England."

Richard said, "I'll take that bet. Darcy, you have a guess."

The pause allowed the ladies following to rejoin the party. Lady Margaret rode up to Darcy. Her eyes were shining with excitement. "A fine jump, Mr. Darcy! You took it beautifully."

His cousins were watching, and they would needle him no matter how he behaved with their pretty cousin. Darcy smiled at her. "It was." Darcy scratched behind the ears of his horse. "I daresay not many men could have carried it off so well." He gestured at Richard and Derwent, indicating which men would find it hard.

Lady Margaret giggled.

Darcy added, "I see in your pretty eyes that you have enjoyed the chase."

"Exceedingly."

Richard exclaimed, "Grettie, I can take any jump Darcy can manage. Just point it out to me later and I'll prove it."

Darcy heard "Tally-ho," and the staccato low pitched horn sounded again. Darcy turned his horse back towards the action and saw the form of the fox hugging the ground as it went through the middle of a field. Darcy's horse carried him quickly into the chase. A fast gallop followed, and they leapt several ditches and fences. The ground hurtled along beneath him, and his stomach dropped every time a leap was made.

There was nothing better on horseback than a good hunt.

It was a large, fast fox in the prime of life. Its tail wagged as it turned back into a covert. After they had leapt over half a dozen hedges, the fox found a drainage ditch it could fit into. The horses could not follow. There was another pause before the dogs managed to flush it out the other end. This time the animal was panting and slower. Darcy's horse sweated from the exertion.

He saw Lady Margaret following along, and the next ditch was low enough to make it almost safe for a woman. She flashed him a smile and carried it off with a fine jump.

Everyone followed on again. The fox was tiring, and he allowed the hounds to come closer each time before leaving its temporary hiding places. Each time he managed to shake the hunters they were able to find the scent again sooner as it ran out of tricks.

There was an almost touching desperation to its attempts to escape. But beyond the joy of the chase, the animals were pests and needed to be put down to protect livestock.

Finally, the drooping fox made one last dash for freedom, and a hound caught the back leg of the fox in its jaw. Immediately the fox disappeared under a squirming, barking mass as the dogs leapt over each other to try to get closer to their dying quarry.

The riders gathered round. Mr. Johnson dismounted and with a shout for the dogs to relax walked through them and picked up the fox's body.

Remembering Matlock's admonition to keep an eye on the pretty Lady Margaret, Darcy glanced around and spotting her smiled and rode next to her horse.

With an easy leap Lord Matlock jumped from his horse and walked through the baying pack. He took the fox from Mr. Johnson. Once the last of the ladies who had been following joined the circle of riders, he held the fox high, displaying the red furred body. The blood from where the dogs had savaged the animal dripped onto Matlock's leather glove, and down the bushy tail.

A cheer went up at the successful catch. They had been lucky with such an early flush. There was ample time to look for another fox or two before returning to the house for dinner.

Matlock pulled his long hunting knife from his belt and sawed off the head of the fox. The foxhounds eagerly wrestled and whimpered around him until Matlock tossed the fox's body into the middle of the pack so that they could enjoy the meat. He then handed the fox's mask to one of the servants who had followed the hunt.

With a broad grin, Matlock walked to where his grandson sat keeping his horse admirably still. "You kept a damn fine seat. I saw how you didn't fall behind the group at all. Good form. Did you enjoy your first hunt?"

Charlie babbled quickly and incoherently about the hounds, the trumpets, and the general excitement of the event. Darcy grinned widely at the boy, remembering his own first hunt. Lady Margaret was smiling in the same way. They shared a look of amusement at the boy's enthusiasm.

Matlock let his grandson talk for a minute, then he interrupted Charlie. "It is a damned fun way to spend a day." Matlock laid his left hand on the horse's shoulder and with his right hand smeared the blood that still sat on his glove from the fox on his grandson's forehead and cheeks. "There. You are now a hunter."

He turned to the crowd watching the old practice of initiating a boy on his first hunt. Matlock lifted his hands grandly. "Come on, three cheers for my grandson."

Darcy grinned and punched a fist into the air as he shouted with the rest of them.

Two hours later Darcy stripped off his dirty clothes while John clucked disapprovingly at how much mud had caked onto his leggings.

What an excellent morning. A very good chase. His uncle's hunts were always the most enjoyable.

A bath had been drawn for him, and Darcy slipped comfortably into the steaming water. The gentlemen were planning to float a boat down the river and shoot at it with a tiny cannon Richard had found somewhere. Then in a few hours would be dinner. Tomorrow was Christmas Day. Carols, presents, the finest meats, dear company. His uncle and sister and cousins.

Darcy closed his eyes and slouched into the tub to enjoy the lingering heat.

What was Elizabeth doing for Christmas?

Damn.

Six hours this time.

He'd thought about her while dressing for the hunt. How long would it take until this obsession left him? It had been six weeks, and every single day she'd bothered his mind. Wasn't that enough time for a simple infatuation to leave? He ached at times to hear her laugh.

She refused to be his mistress, and he was not going to marry her, and there was nothing further to think about the matter.

If she'd been raised with money, would she have followed the chase like Lady Margaret or his mother, or would Elizabeth have preferred to stay at the manor ensuring that the fires were bright and the servants prepared for their return like Georgiana and Lady Matlock?

Elizabeth on a horse, riding astride like a man, her hair fallen out of the pins and trailing behind her. The way she would smell: sweat, perfume, saddle leather; like a woman.

He needed to stop this. But he didn't want to.

What _was_ she doing for Christmas? He thought she would see the uncle she claimed to like, the one in trade in London. Also the sister who had been sent to London to keep away from Lydia. She had chosen family and friends over him, and she would be happy to see them. At least there was that.

But, she would still live with Mr. Phillips. Another year. Her mother would insult her. There would be no hope and no money. No great gifts, no great happiness. Bingley had written that he now spent no time with Miss Bennet, and that she _had_ been hurt, but not too greatly, when he talked to her.

If only there was something he could do for Elizabeth. Just because she refused him did not mean he stopped wanting to see her happy and protected. But he had no right to give her money or to do anything else which would compromise her reputation. She did not want him to. Even though it would be absurd to give money to a woman who had refused to be his mistress, he still would have if he thought she would accept it.

Darcy left the bath and dressed for the rest of the day.

That afternoon he was seated next to Lady Margaret at dinner.

Unlike the modest — and warm — riding habit she had worn during the hunt, her dress was low-cut and clung around her bosom, marking the outline of her full breasts. It took a force of effort for Darcy to keep from staring.

Six months now.

He kept his eyes on her face and smiled charmingly as he could. She was a beautiful woman. Of course she was the daughter of an earl; he would never consider seducing her. Darcy smiled at her. "Someone should make a painting of you jumping that ditch. It was a perfect image."

"I saw you were looking my direction."

"How could I not?"

She blushed at Darcy's flattery. It was words he'd been trained to use automatically. But they felt emptier now. It didn't show in his manner, but Elizabeth had not really left his mind since his bath. Making her smile had been so much…more significant than making any other woman smile.

Lady Margaret said, " _You_ should be painted jumping. Of course you already have been painted, but not an equestrian. And you would know what painter to hire."

"Yes, I do know many painters. The same portraitist shall do us both."

She flushed again and looked down. She was very susceptible to his flirtations. He should keep the tone more distant for the rest of the evening.

Darcy asked, "You must be eager for the season? More significant feelings must have prevailed at the time, but to be suddenly placed in mourning just two weeks after entering society must have been an unpleasant reflection _later_."

"I enjoyed the dances very much. They have been a very good memory. But I also miss Grandfather very much."

"You shall be the center of attention in Town."

"Oh do you think?"

"It is a certainty. Have you any particular beaux you are interested in? Was there someone you liked last season?"

She blushed and bit her lip prettily. With a sideways glance into his eyes she said, "Maybe."

A tingle of desire and interest burned through Darcy's stomach. Her behavior said she held at least a modest _tendre_ for him. The entire day took on a different complexion. Matlock had told him he planned to find Darcy a good wife. His uncle had made him promise to keep an eye on Margaret this morning. She was worth forty thousand pounds and beautiful and already closely allied to the family.

Everything a gentleman could hope for in a wife.

Elizabeth flashed before his eyes. Some part of him said: _Remember, you are supposed to return and marry her_.

 _Damn you. She refused me. I will_ not _make a fool of myself over her._

Darcy flashed Lady Margaret his best smile, with both dimples. "Unless he is a fool, I am sure this gentleman will like you very much."

She blushed and brightly smiled back at him.

When dinner ended, the ladies parted, and the gentlemen sat around the table. Boxes of cigars were brought out and passed around, and decanters of brandy and port were placed on the table. Darcy poured himself a full glass of the brandy and waved away the offered cigar. Lord Matlock and Lord Radnor moved around the table to sit next to Darcy. The smoke from their cigars hung in the room.

"What do you think of her? Our little Grettie is quite grown up, isn't she?" Matlock waggled his eyebrows.

Radnor elbowed his brother-in-law. "That is my daughter and your niece."

Darcy shrugged and smiled. "She is a paragon of charm and beauty — an exemplar of delicacy and strength, accomplished and witty." With a wry twist of his face, Darcy said to Radnor, "Her figure is perfect as well. May I presume an inheritance from her mother?"

Radnor patted his ample waist. "Not from me."

Matlock said, "Yes, yes. You speak of her in the same glowing tones you would any lady you met in a ballroom who you did not actually dislike. But you know what I mean — would you marry her?"

Uneasiness rose up. He'd flirted with Lady Margaret and tried to learn something more of her character. But now that he had a minute to think, he was not sure he wanted to marry this year. He was still quite young. There was no hurry. It was too soon to settle his fate.

Darcy was mostly sure the feeling was because of Elizabeth, and hence irrational.

Darcy forced himself to speak. "I do not know. I had not thought of it until halfway through dinner."

"You said you shall marry this season." Matlock slapped his hand on the table. "And I'll hold you to it. So since you will not keep your bachelor state, do you have a particular objection to Margaret?"

Derwent and Richard sat together chatting close enough to hear the conversation. Richard exclaimed, "A cheer for being trapped in the sweet bonds of matrimony. And such a beautiful woman. Darcy, it is a fate poor colonels are unlikely to achieve."

Derwent elbowed his brother. "Fatherhood is worth entering the married state. You should not delay longer. And Grettie is as good a sort as you could hope for."

"She is so young."

Radnor laughed, holding his cigar to the side. "She is nineteen. That is not young at all. Darcy, my daughter likes you, your gallantry last season before my father died made an impression on her, and we've known your character and habits since you were a child. It would be a good alliance for us both, extending the connection between the Roberts and Fitzwilliams into another generation. You are an excellent match, but if you don't want to marry my girl, we'll just find someone else."

"No, no, I do. I think I do. I like the idea. It is very strange to think myself soon to be married. I cannot say for sure so quick. She… I must make my own judgement of her."

Matlock snorted. "She is a comely girl, and there is nothing wild in her behavior, and _we_ are her connections. How long can it take you to decide? I decided to marry Susan before I'd more than seen her twice."

"We are a new generation, Uncle, infected by French ideas and novel reading. Perhaps I want something different from a marriage."

"Ha! There are fools in every generation. But for a wife you can want nothing better than Grettie. Find love, if you must, with your mistress. What I've always said."

Darcy glanced uncomfortably at Radnor. Was it _really_ a good idea to explicitly discuss such a subject in front of the father of a woman he might marry?

Radnor laughed. "Keep up the proprieties; just promise to be more discreet than your uncle, but none of us are hypocrites."

Yes, of course not. "I can promise to be more discreet than _Matlock_."

Radnor said, "I can trust you to take care of my girl. I remember what your father was like with Lady Anne. I don't expect you to be like they were, but you take obligations seriously."

Lady Margaret was soft. A little like Elizabeth's sister Jane might be if she had forty thousand. Marrying her would be like every society marriage. Sweet affection, but no deep passion. He would never love her.

His parent's marriage had been different. Their last Christmas: the two of them laughing together, Father swinging Mother around and around, her stomach beginning to show with Georgiana. Happiness and love.

Another scene blotted that happy memory away. Matlock, his hair still black. The weathered stone bench used by generations of Eton students. The mowed lawns for cricket and bowls. It felt in his memory like they sat forever, hours maybe, and the terrified feeling in Darcy's stomach stretched up and down his limbs before Matlock told him his father was dead.

He didn't want to love anyone.

"Well, say something."

"Your daughter seems a perfect wife. I must know her better, but I _think_ I shall be very pleased to marry her."

Radnor said, "I am not your uncle. I wouldn't marry a girl without thinking about it either. There is plenty of time, we will all be here until after Twelfth Night. It is another two weeks, take your time, talk to Margaret. But decide by Twelfth Night. If I must hunt down a different husband for her, I wish to know before the season begins."

DODODODO

The next day was Christmas. Darcy spent the morning talking to and walking with Lady Margaret. She was sweet and pretty and conversable. Their conversation was rather somber, and Darcy spent most of it interrogating Lady Margaret about her habits, character and childhood.

He knew he should be flirting with her, but he didn't want to. The desire for her he'd felt the previous day was completely gone. As a pretty woman to flirt with when there was no thought in his head that it might go beyond that, she was very attractive.

But Darcy had no desire to _actually_ bed her. He flinched away from asking himself why. He did not want to think about what he knew was the answer. But the idea of marrying her seemed worse and worse to him the more he tried to force himself to think it was a good idea.

Darcy and Georgiana had a pair of rooms in the Matlock estate with a sitting room between them. The sitting room was decorated far more to Georgiana's taste as she spent three to four months in a year there, splitting her time between her brother and her uncle. Since he had promised to spend part of Christmas day just with her, Darcy and Georgiana went to their sitting room in the afternoon.

Georgiana crossed her legs under her, and plopped onto one of the cushions of the soft lavender sofa. "Are you going to marry Grettie?"

Darcy made a face. He did not want an inquisition. "What makes you think I might?"

Georgiana rolled her eyes, as though that was a stupid question. Which Darcy admitted it was.

"I have not decided yet, but Radnor and Matlock suggested I ought. What do _you_ think?"

"Boring, and entirely proper. Plenty of _delicacy_. She is _widely_ accomplished. For all the use _that_ is. I don't understand why someone would want to draw, and paint, and knit, and do a dozen other things when they could focus all that effort on one and become _actually_ skilled."

"I have heard her play, as have you. Despite having more than _one_ accomplishment mastered, she is very good."

"She is not. And you know it. Not next to me at any rate. She wanted to play a duet with me. I told her I don't like to play them."

Darcy shrugged. "Your modesty, my dear sister, does you great credit."

Georgiana stuck her tongue out at him. She then said, "She is very curious about you. It would be pretty if she wasn't a goose who only sees that smile Derwent taught you. At least she _does_ like you — it would be _possible_ for you to do worse."

"You do not approve? Georgie, it is my decision, but she would be your sister. Please…if you have _anything_ against her to say, tell me."

"Well…" Georgiana stuck her fist in her mouth and nibbled on a knuckle.

Silently Darcy pulled her hand away from her mouth.

Georgiana grinned at him. "Madame Perrin has been trying to break that habit for months."

"It is unladylike." Darcy smiled at his sister.

She smiled back. "You don't _really_ care." She put her knuckle back in her mouth. "There is nothing _wrong_ with Margaret, I suppose. And much right. I suuuuppose. Her dowry _is_ very rich, and she _is_ very pretty, but… I could not imagine talking with her very often. But _men_ don't need worry about such things when they marry. _You_ can always find a mistress to fall in love with after you are bored with her. When I marry, if I take a lover it would mean he might be able to divorce me and take my fortune. I shall not marry until I am at least three and twenty. Madame Perrin made me promise not to after Wickham. She thinks young people are more foolish before they are that age. And I always can remember how Wickham charmed me if I ever trust myself to be wise."

"You realized he was a fortune hunter and sent him away."

"Oh, I only realized that because he was an impatient imbecile. He refused to talk to you or Uncle, or listen to any suggestion but immediate marriage."

"I would never have approved of such a marriage, and neither would our uncle."

Georgiana waved her hand, dismissing what he'd said. " _Never_? That is a large statement. You give insufficient respect to the vagaries of fortune. I didn't think you would, immediately, but if we showed constancy over a period of time, eventually you would have allowed it. Madame Perrin would have made Uncle Charlie allow a correspondence, and if neither of you came around, I could have gone to him once I was able to sign my own settlement papers when I came of age."

"Six years is a long time to wait."

"I _wasn't_ going to wait that long to be with him either. I offered to run off to join him, if you both were absolute bores about it, after six months. We wouldn't marry until I was of age, but we could live together in some distant village in Cornwall. Miss Wickham had told me her brother had received three thousand from Papa when he died, so I thought there could be no problem about us living together cheaply until then."

Darcy coughed. "You — Georgie, that would have been worse than eloping with him. What if you had children? Then you would have needed to marry lest they be illegitimate. What were you thinking?"

"We wouldn't have had children until we married."

"Among everything else Uncle had you learn — haven't you been told… Well if you lived with Wickham, children would…"

This was his baby sister. This was _why_ he'd never been actually unhappy she was Matlock's responsibility. This was not a conversation he could have. "You are confused, but Uncle Charles is your guardian. It is his place to explain."

Georgiana's sneer was completely dismissive. "Of _course_ I know how women get with child. You half headed coxcomb. You blockhead. You—" Georgiana threw her arms in the air and growled.

"Then if…"

"There are other things men and women can do to give and receive pleasure that don't risk a child. I am shocked you _didn_ 't know that."

Darcy stared at his sister. She blushed hard and then pulled her legs onto the couch so she could face in an opposite direction from Darcy.

"Did you and Mr. Wickham—" An image muscled its way into Darcy's mind.

God, no.

He didn't want to _ever_ imagine that. Not with his little sister as the woman. "Do _not_ tell me! Do not — we shall never, never, never revisit this conversation again. You are your uncle's ward, and it is not my place to judge what facts you know. You are not married to Wickham; your _innocence_ , such as it is, is intact; I have no need to hunt the man down and challenge him. That is all I want to know."

Georgiana mutely nodded.

"And, if Matlock ever encourages you to marry, ever, even after you are three and twenty, you can count on me to support you when you say no. Three and twenty, or maybe three and forty. Good ages. Especially three and forty."

Darcy stood and went to the counter where a decanter of brandy sat. He needed a drink. He sniffed the liquid and then swallowed a long pull straight. The fire burned down his throat. This was what he deserved for hoping Georgiana would give him a _reason_ to not marry Lady Margaret.

"Do you want any?"

Georgiana smirked at him and stood up and walked to the counter.

Darcy poured a thin finger of the alcohol for Georgiana and added water to weaken it. She delicately took the glass.

"So you have no opinion on whether I should marry Lady Margaret?"

"She would be your wife. I think she would be a dull sister, but that is hardly a reason for you not to marry her. You'll likely have pretty daughters, and she isn't actually stupid — though she does like _Pamela_. I'd rather marry Wickham, even knowing he is a fortune hunter who cared nothing for me, than Mr. B."

Darcy thought of Elizabeth again.

Georgiana leaned her elbows on the back of the sofa. "Fitzwilliam, what is it?"

"Nothing — only, I met someone, a woman, in Hertfordshire. She had much the same opinion about _Pamela_."

" _A woman_. Is this the woman you've moped about since you returned from Hertfordshire? Don't look surprised, I pay attention. I didn't know for sure that you were in love, but—"

"I am _not_ in love."

Georgiana waved that objection away. "Why don't you marry her instead of Lady Margaret? I'm sure I'd like her more."

"All you know about her is that she dislikes _Pamela_ as well."

"I also know that you _like_ her. It is at least _probable_ I'd prefer her to Lady Margaret."

"You would, much more."

"Why don't you marry this woman with the wisdom to dislike _Pamela_. Oh — she is already married? And she loves her husband too much to run away with you?"

Darcy stared at her. "Where did you get such ideas? You shouldn't know about such things."

Georgiana showed a mischievous smile. "Our uncle's ward, remember. So if Miss Cleverer than Lady Margaret is not married, why don't you offer for her?"

"She is far beneath me. Much too far to even think about marrying her."

Georgiana screwed her face in disgust. " _I_ don't care about such things. I'd have married Wickham no matter how low his connections if he loved me and wasn't an entirely useless pretty dandy. A girl should be prettier than her husband, and he is prettier than every woman in England."

"Such things matter."

"Why didn't you make this woman your mistress? If she is so far beneath us, she would have no better options. She must've liked you, I see how you talk to women, you are nearly as charming as Wickham was when you try. And, even if you are not in love — you have an _infatuation_. You should ride back to Hertfordshire and beg her to come live with you, and then invite me to meet this woman who you think I will like."

 _Fitzwilliam, it is not you I am rejecting_.

"Oh." Georgiana's enthusiasm collapsed from her face. "She refused you. I'm sure I wouldn't like her — she is either priggish or doesn't like you very much. Neither speaks well for her sense."

"Ha. You think ill of the sense of a woman who would refuse to be a man's mistress too? I thought it was only me."

"So she is too obsessed by what society would think of her to follow you."

"No. Elizabeth doesn't care how the world in general thinks on her."

"Then, why — was it superstitious religious nonsense—"

"You should think and speak more highly of religion and the church."

"You don't pay any attention to prohibitions against fornication."

"I attend church every week, and I believe in Providence. However, the first law is to love your neighbor as yourself. I am satisfied my dealings with women have always satisfied that requirement. I do not seek to harm and take advantage."

"So this _Elizabeth_ refused because _she_ thought love wasn't a worthy reason to ignore the harping of the pulpits and her teachers. I can't like her. I would have followed a man I loved to the ends of England and the depths of hell if he loved me, and we had some hope of happiness and friendship."

"I don't love Elizabeth. By Jove, I don't. I told her that. Love is what killed our father and I won't _ever_ let myself fall in love."

"You told her you didn't love her."

"I wouldn't lie. Not to any woman. _Never_ to Elizabeth."

"Halfwit! Numbskull!" Georgiana kicked him in the shins. " _No_ woman would be charmed by _that_ sort of offer. Of course she was right to refuse you. To give up so much for a man who proudly proclaims he doesn't love you. Miss Wickham never cared, but most women have some scruples on the matter. Nitwit. How can you be so charming normally, and yet such a fool?"

"I'm not a fool."

Georgiana shook her head. "I'm going downstairs to find someone less stupid to talk to. You should marry Lady Margaret. She is exactly the sort of woman for a man with your opinions. But don't tell her that you don't love her when you propose. Idiot."


	15. Chapter 15

Despite being delighted to see Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner again, Elizabeth was exquisitely uncomfortable in Mr. Phillips's stuffy drawing room.

"So Mr. Bingley's friend Mr. Darcy left as planned?" Mrs. Gardiner asked her sister-in-law with a concerned look.

Mrs. Bennet replied, "No, he just left. A month before planned. No to do, no parting words, just disappeared. Everyone talked about it for two weeks."

It was the last day of the year. Elizabeth pushed her hand rhythmically against the sprigged sofa she sat on. Hopefully this small fidget would not be seen. Kitty was boarding at Longbourn with Mary, and she was now calling on all her friends, but Jane and Lizzy had stayed at the house. Mr. and Mrs. Phillips were there with Mama and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.

Mrs. Bennet querulously added, "You thought he might want to make Lizzy his mistress. You wanted me to warn him off. But he didn't. Of course he didn't. Nobody will ever want Lizzy."

Elizabeth clenched at the thick upholstery.

Mr. Phillips exclaimed, "What!" Then he laughed. "I remember when he wanted to give Lizzy money for cards. Tried to be her hero that night, protecting her from being reminded what she is. Hahahahaha. But he didn't like her that much."

"Elizabeth is a very good girl," Mr. Gardiner kept his arm around his wife. "If he ever had such a thought, I'm sure he realized she would never agree to such a thing. This is _not_ a proper conversation when Jane and Lizzy are here."

Mr. Phillips said, "Lizzy talks to Lydia all the time. She hears far _worse_ things there I suspect."

"If only he had…" Mrs. Bennet shook her head. "Lizzy is handsome, but no one can like her manner after she talks to them for a while. Too forward, too much learning. Arrogant. It is all my useless husband's fault. I told her to tell Darcy she would do anything for him. But she couldn't grab him. She isn't worth the food we are feeding her."

"Hear, hear," Mr. Phillips said.

"Fanny, you…you _wanted_ Lizzy to become his mistress?" Mr. Gardiner was pale. "I have never been so ashamed to share your blood, not even when you became a bankrupt despite having had ample funds."

Mr. Phillips said, "It would have been better than what Lydia did. Ha! Lizzy, I bet you wish he'd asked you. But you couldn't catch him, not so capable as Lydia, are you."

"You gave me such hope." Mrs. Bennet pointed accusingly at Mrs. Gardiner. "You said that you'd heard he seduced the daughter of his steward, so he wouldn't have any objection to taking a gentlewoman. You said that according to your correspondents he had just left his previous mistress. You said it might be the only reason a gentleman with those habits would spend so much time with Lizzy. All our problems would have been solved if Lizzy got him to give her a good price. But she couldn't land him. You are a worthless girl, and I wish I'd never given birth to you. It is your fault Jane hasn't married."

"He asked me!"

Elizabeth clapped her hands over her mouth. She couldn't believe Mama had made her admit that.

Mr. Gardiner scowled heavily.

Mr. Phillips said, "Did you let him take you, and he then ran off without paying? I can't believe _you_ wouldn't let him swive you."

"No!"

"Really, are you lying to make us think better of your virtue?"

Elizabeth pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. Jane grabbed her other hand.

Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, "You horrid, _horrid_ daughter. I _ordered_ you to encourage him. And then you treat me like this. I shall never speak with you again."

"I am proud of you." Mrs. Gardiner moved next to Elizabeth and put her arms around her. "He was a very bad man and a practiced seducer. It must have been difficult to stay firm. And I know you thought highly of him, it must have hurt greatly when you discovered he was never your friend."

"He _isn't_ like that. He was my friend."

Mr. Gardiner said, "Do not make excuses for him. Only a depraved rake would make such an offer to any woman, let alone a gentlewoman. It shows he has no respect for serious matters. I am only glad he accepted your refusal. Do not mourn for him. He never thought about _your_ happiness at all."

Elizabeth jumped up. "You misjudge him. He did care about me. He…he _is_ a good man."

"Now, Elizabeth…"

"No! I'll not hear you insult him. You don't understand what sort of a man he is."

She left the room and went outside, cursing herself for having said anything. It was at moments like this that it hurt most. Usually she managed to not miss him. He didn't deserve to be thought of as a heartless rake. Elizabeth knew she was close enough to the girl Mr. Phillips thought she was, that if Darcy had been a heartless rake when they stood in those woods, he _could_ have had her.

But he also had never returned.

That night there was a party at Longbourn.

Every year Charlotte and Mr. Collins threw a large dinner party to celebrate the new year. It was not a full ball as the rooms at Longbourn were not large enough to permit more than six or seven couple dancing together once the drawing room had been cleared of its furniture.

However, the parties were always fine entertainments.

This year was a costume ball, but no theme had been set. Elizabeth and Jane wore panniers and tall horsehair wigs which had belonged to their grandmother when she was a young woman. Despite the efforts to clean their costumes some dust remained in the wigs.

The rooms were cramped as more than a dozen families and half the militia officers were there. However, Elizabeth loved the laughter and eager conversations. Charlotte's punch mix was always tasty and not too strong, and there was plenty of food and different people to talk to. Elizabeth was able to dance several reels in the crowded drawing room.

It was not a rowdy party as Charlotte and Mr. Collins, with some help from Sir William, were able to quiet any groups of guests that got out of hand.

Elizabeth noticed that Jane and Bingley talked together several times. They had studiously avoided each other or acted as the most distant acquaintances for several weeks after Darcy left, but slowly the stiffness had faded away. Bingley was very engaged in the local society, and he and Jane encountered each other too often and in too wide a variety of circumstances for a complete separation to be maintained without real effort.

Bingley wore a long red cape, a short sword, and a coat with leather strips attached to it to make it look like the armor of a Roman centurion. He carried the look off well and Elizabeth watched him flourish the cape with an eager gesture as he talked to Jane. Perhaps Darcy hadn't destroyed every possibility of him falling in love with Jane.

Late in the evening Wickham approached Elizabeth. He looked dashing with a mask that covered his eyes and a highwayman's cloak.

Elizabeth had avoided him since the night they met. Even though he'd told the truth about Darcy, Elizabeth didn't trust him.

"Miss Elizabeth! Are you eager for the New Year?"

Elizabeth smiled uncomfortably. "I am."

"I know I offended you. I wish to apologize. This has preyed on my mind. I did speak with the best of intentions, but as nothing came of the matter, it would have been best if I said nothing."

"No — you warned me. I am the one who ought to apologize."

Wickham's eyes lit up and he replied with an eager whisper. "So he did — I was right — and you really refused the request?"

Elizabeth was annoyed by Wickham's evident pleasure at this news. "I do hope you enjoy whatever revenge you feel you've gained for the destruction of your sister's honor."

"Tell me, was he crushed? It must've shocked him exceedingly to be refused. Almost no one refuses a Darcy."

Elizabeth remembered the expression on Darcy's face. Darcy hadn't looked like a spoiled boy. He had looked like a man in love.

Wickham slapped his palm against his mouth. "I must be the worst sort of blackguard. The worst sort. I have been so self-centered — I ought to wish for your sake I had been entirely wrong. Whether _he_ was hurt, you certainly were."

Elizabeth's eyes felt tight and sad. She would not cry in front of Mr. Wickham.

"I admire you — you face it so well. The time I was — the time a lady broke my heart, I did not bear up as well as you do."

Elizabeth looked at him. Mr. Wickham's eyes were sympathetic and handsome. He added, "Very few women in your position would have resisted Mr. Darcy. I admire you for your strength of character."

She wiped at the tears which had formed. "He should not have made such an offer to me."

"He should not have."

Wickham briefly touched Elizabeth's forearm. "You are still a little in love with him — don't be. He does not deserve any of your heart."

"I hardly know what to think. I opened myself to him, I told him so much, I trusted him."

"Your trust was misplaced. He is a practiced seducer, and you are fortunate to escape his web."

"No! He isn't— Whatever Mr. Darcy is, whatever his failings, he is honest. He never lied to me, even when what he said would not help him achieve his purposes. He really wanted to be my friend, he was my friend. I cannot hate him."

Wickham frowned and rubbed at his forehead. "You shouldn't let yourself love him. There are other men — better men. Men with honorable intentions."

She was tipsy, and though Wickham was not the man she wanted to share her feelings about Darcy with, it was hard not to keep talking. Since the night she had told Jane, her sister had always had an edge about her when Elizabeth mentioned Darcy. It made it impossible for Elizabeth to really talk about her feelings with her sister. And Jane had stopped saying what she felt about Bingley.

Wickham was perhaps the only person she could talk to about Darcy who knew what he had asked her. Elizabeth said in a low voice, "You didn't tell me the whole truth. He did not abandon your sister. He gave her four thousand pounds when they parted, and she is now married. I believe Darcy in this."

Wickham's face froze. He whispered harshly, "Four thousand pounds. She received four thousand…" He took a deep breath. "I did not know. I have not corresponded with my sister for several years. I do not have many correspondents left in Derbyshire. I had known she parted from him, and my anger at Mr. Darcy made me think worse of him than he deserved." Wickham whistled. "Four thousand pounds."

"You have few correspondents in Derbyshire?"

"I did something ill-advised in anger at my sister's fate. My friends and relations still depend on the patronage of Darcy and his uncle, who are among the greatest landlords of Derbyshire. They were all told to end communication with me."

"Oh."

Wickham said, "I am frightened on your behalf. They are a vengeful family. Lord Matlock hounded me and tried to prevent me from finding employment. If you offended Darcy — if he did not take the rejection well — has he sought any revenge?"

"He counseled his friend Bingley to avoid my sister. But even if resentment added to his motivation, he would have done so in any case. Darcy is mostly a good man. Dissolute, not evil."

"He might act in a way you do not expect — secretly harming your uncle's business or something of the sort."

"My, you _are_ suspicious of Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth laughed. "My uncle says business has never been better."

"I am glad he has not hurt you." Mr. Wickham smiled charmingly at Elizabeth. "I must sound as though I am obsessed. I am glad for what you told me about my sister. I ought to write to her again. She did sin, but forgiveness should always be shown — and she is my sister."

She had misjudged Wickham. "I am glad that you will. Family matters."

"It is your doing."

Elizabeth smiled at him and he smiled back. She realized from his look that he admired her. He was a handsome man who admired her.

She had drunk much from Charlotte's punch and had a giggly enthusiasm for the next year. It would be better.

A shout came from the front hall. "Midnight — it is almost here."

Everyone crowded into the entry hall where the tall clock was kept. Its pendulum swung back and forth and the hour hand was almost at twelve. The Collinses' footmen handed everyone tall glasses of champagne, and when the hour hand clicked into place there was a big cheer and everyone drank their glasses.

Mr. Bingley began to sing _Auld Lang Syne_ with a fine baritone, and most of the other guests joined him. When it was done people dispersed through the rooms, and the guests who planned to return to their own homes gathered in the vestibule to wait for their carriages.

Mr. Wickham stayed with Elizabeth, and they sat down in a dark corner of the dining room. It would be a good year. Elizabeth felt it. Her head swam from the alcohol and as they were still in costumes there was a dreamlike quality to the moment.

An old tradition said you should kiss the first person you met in the New Year, and with the thought that Darcy disliked him, Elizabeth went to kiss Wickham on the cheeks. He turned and caught her kiss on the lips.

Immediately Elizabeth drew away, but Wickham followed her and bent his head forward to kiss her again. Elizabeth pushed him back and shook her head.

Wickham said in a pleading tone, "You are so very beautiful, just one proper kiss."

"No. By no means."

Elizabeth stood and swayed slightly. She felt disgusted with herself. He tried to follow her, but Elizabeth pushed Wickham away again and went to sit in a different room.

That had been nothing like kissing Darcy. It would be gross to kiss anyone but a man she believed she loved.

Elizabeth returned to the drawing room with its space cleared in the center for dancing. A few couples danced a final reel while Mary played. Mr. Collins always encouraged everyone to leave or bed down a half hour or so after the new year began.

Elizabeth sat on a chair placed along one of the walls and listened to the music.

Jane came into the room and sat down next to Elizabeth. The candlelight was bright enough that Elizabeth could see her sister's red cheeks and bright eyes.

Jane exclaimed, "I love costume parties — you feel so much freer, as though differences between people are removed. As though we were more as God made us. Do you not think so?"


	16. Chapter 16

Darcy stared at the flickering fire. There were three days until the Twelfth Night celebration. He had decided not to marry Lady Margaret. He simply did not _want_ to marry her, even though it was the right thing for him to do. She deserved to have a husband who wanted her.

He would explain to Radnor and Matlock tomorrow.

Richard interrupted his reverie. "Come, come. I need to talk to you."

His cousin waved his left hand in a come along gesture while he held a bottle of whiskey and two crystal glasses in his other.

Most of the guests had retired for the night, including Lady Margaret and Georgiana. Darcy shrugged and followed his cousin. "Why can't we talk about this in the drawing room?"

Richard pointed to a lit candleholder on a side table. "Grab that."

"We are going somewhere without candles? Quite mysterious."

"It is just a room I know where we won't be disturbed. It won't be used at this hour. I shall explain when we get there."

Richard took them to a freezing and deserted sitting room on the top floor of the servants wing. Darcy clapped his hands and wished he grabbed a heavier coat while Richard used the candleholder to light the fire. At least the room was well supplied with firewood.

There was a large window, and Darcy looked out over the park at the stars and moon.

The room had a round wooden table with a half dozen comfortable chairs around it. Once the fire was established, Richard rubbed his hands together. "Perfect." He pointed out one of the chairs and said, "Sit. Sit."

Darcy did so and then watched with a raised eyebrow as Richard slammed the two tumblers he had brought onto small table, and proceeded to pour one of them to the brim before putting a strong dram in the other. "So what is this about?"

Richard pushed the glass he'd filled completely into Darcy's hand. "Drink."

With a shrug Darcy sipped at the strong whiskey.

"No — the whole thing."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Darcy stared at his cousin. He stared at the light colored liquid. He stared back at his cousin. It was from a good barrel. Darcy cautiously sniffed the glass. It smelled right.

Darcy took a large swallow and coughed lightly.

"Now finish it — I promise I'll explain once you have."

"That is a quite strong shot."

"Are you worried you can't handle your liquor?"

"No, just observing." Darcy finished the whiskey in his glass, and Richard immediately poured another serving into it.

"Aren't you going to drink yours?"

"Ah, a little. But too much would be counterproductive." Richard stared critically at Darcy's glass. "Finish half of what is in there, and I will tell you what I am about."

"Richard."

"Have I ever led you astray? Do not answer. Because of the affection you hold for me, and our long years of friendship. Because we are cousins."

"Fine, but I'll wrestle you to the ground and box you about the ears if I don't think you had a good reason."

"Oh, you'll appreciate my reason."

The glass had a thick wide bottom and was very full. This was a lot of distilled spirits to drink in about ten minutes. Darcy had not drunk so much in so little time since an incident during his last year at Cambridge that was impossible to remember. According to Bingley that was for the best.

He would _not_ let Richard keep filling his glass until he was insensible.

Darcy gulped down about two thirds of the whiskey in the cup. It burned in his stomach, and Darcy settled the glass on the table. It had been three hours since dinner, and he could already feel the alcohol acting on his mind.

"So why did you wish to get me drunk?"

"I'm going to pump you for information you would rather not give me. I thought my chances would be better if I kept my wits, and you did not."

Though undignified, Darcy couldn't prevent himself from giggling.

"Don't you — ha, ha, ha — wouldn't your effort be more likely to succeed if you didn't reveal your nefarious scheme?"

"No, you would be annoyed and on your guard. Now that you know it, you will relax and not worry."

"What am I going to reveal?"

"The reason you are dithering about asking Margaret to marry you."

"Oh." Darcy sat straighter. "It is none of your business — I'm not dithering. I don't plan to marry her."

" _This_ is why I needed to get you drunk. You would've shrugged, and not said anything if you were completely sober. Tell me, why not? It is not because you don't want to take her to bed. She is by far the best looking creature on this estate and you know it."

"She is too young. And Georgiana doesn't like her much."

"Georgiana doesn't like most people."

"Yes, and her sister-in-law should be one of those rare woman who she does get along with perfectly."

The cousins looked at each other. Darcy's face felt flushed and a little numb.

"Hmmm." Richard took a sip from his whiskey. "Finish your glass. You aren't drunk enough yet. Go on — I know your tolerance; I won't let you get sick."

Part of Darcy wondered if Richard might have some useful advice. He tossed back the rest of the glass, and then impulsively said, "It is not Lady Margaret — if I imagined anyone else in her position, I would feel the same hesitation. The thought of facing that same person for the rest of my life… It is serious, and she does not feel right."

"That girl, the one from Hertfordshire that Georgiana is convinced you're in love with, what if you imagine being married to her?"

Darcy sputtered. "What! Georgiana told you about the conversation? I told her, repeatedly, I'm not in love with Elizabeth."

"Your sister was quite annoyed with you, and she needed someone to rant at. Since Madame Perrin is visiting her cousins in Shropshire, and Father is absorbed reminiscing about the good old days with Radnor it fell to me to listen. Would it feel 'not right' if it was _her_ you were considering marrying?"

"I couldn't marry her — she is penniless, and her sister married a blacksmith."

"Yes, yes, yes. She is dashed unsuitable. But if _she_ were she, except she had decent connections and a plump enough purse to serve as an excuse, would it feel wrong?"

"She is a dear friend who is very clever and has opinions of her own. She is not only a sensuous object I enjoy looking at. I _like_ talking with her. It wouldn't be a burden to talk with her every day. It is different — I am not in love with her."

Richard blinked. "No? I never said you were. But you do not dislike the idea of being married to her. I can say that?"

"There is no way I can marry her — it is irrelevant."

"So you keep thinking about her?"

Darcy sighed. "It is an infatuation, and irrational sentiment that will dissolve with time. I am not in love."

"Darcy — you never kept more than one mistress. Are you perhaps unwilling to marry Lady Margaret because it would be disloyal to your would-be mistress?"

"She refused me — I would have no cause to be loyal even if your theory was not absurd."

"No rational cause, but reason is oft the slave of the passions."

Darcy rolled his eyes.

"You're a fool. Suppose she had become your mistress; would you even consider marrying _anyone_? You wouldn't."

"Of course I would. A mistress and a wife are different things."

Richard quirked an eye at Darcy.

Darcy's hand wavered. He imagined having Elizabeth. He wouldn't have let her go. But he could have still married.

The words of the marriage ceremony flashed through his mind: Will you, forsaking all others, be faithful so long as you both shall live.

In his drunk state Darcy knew with a complete certainty he would _never_ break his marriage vows. If he swore them to a woman who believed he was serious, he would keep to them.

He suddenly realized that Elizabeth had been right to demand he swear that before living with him.

"I…I think I would have married her eventually. At least if she ever became with child."

Richard nodded. "You need to banish that girl from your mind. It is fortunate her character kept her from going with you."

"She has sat on my mind this past month and a half. She will not simply leave it. Nothing but time will efface her."

"You don't _have_ time. _She_ is why you won't marry Margaret. Will you admit that now?"

"Yes. But—"

"We won't find a better match for Greta than you, and you won't find a better girl than her."

Darcy blinked. His drunken brain had a great deal of difficulty understanding what Richard was suggesting. "I have decided I won't marry Lady Margaret."

"Only because of your infatuation. There is a way to get rid of such things quickly. Tomorrow evening, we will ride to Derby. There is a brothel there with a large selection of girls. It is a very rich place. The Earl of Derby uses it exclusively when he is at his seat. The Madame keeps everything clean, a physician inspects all of the girls each week. You are going to find a bit of muslin who looks just like this Elizabeth, and spend the evening enjoying her favors and pretending she _is_ Elizabeth. Then you will come back in the morning and do the right thing and ask Margaret to marry you."

"That is disgusting."

"It is not."

Darcy leaned forward, suddenly angry. "She refused me. I will not use her image in my mind in that way. I respect her too highly. Damn you, Richard."

His cousin flinched back at Darcy's shout.

"Even if I tried… Elizabeth is unique. It is her mind, her voice, her way of laughing at me when I use those silly tricks to charm women that you taught me. The bright light in her eyes. No Derby whore could have that light. It is _Elizabeth_ I want."

Richard's eyes popped.

Saying it aloud let him understand. It was obvious now. Darcy slumped back and looked at the ceiling.

"Damn. I do love her."

They were both quiet.

The candles made a dizzying circle, and Darcy's stomach churned. Damn, damn, damn. He wanted to ride back to Hertfordshire and tell Elizabeth.

Richard sighed. "You can't marry her. It would make all of us a joke. Father would be ashamed of you. Think about Georgiana."

Darcy pushed the glass towards Richard, who refilled it for him. He drank the new alcohol in one swallow. Darcy realized he was becoming very drunk. "I could marry Elizabeth."

"Damnation! No! A blacksmith instead of an earl for a connection. Are you daft? Control yourself. You are a rational man, not someone to be carried off by feeling for a ladybird."

"Elizabeth is a respectable woman."

"No she isn't. She perhaps has a good character but _nobody_ could ever respect a blacksmith's sister. Or his brother. Do you want to become that? Damn it, Darcy, think."

The candles were whirling and whirling. Darcy threw up onto the floor. He unsteadily looked at the bits of pinkish matter as his throat burned from the acid that had just come up. Richard was right. He'd sworn to stay away from this insanity. All his realization meant was that his affection for Elizabeth went far deeper than he'd realized before. It didn't change anything else.

Darcy wiped his hand over his numb, sweaty brow. "You are right. After all your father has done for me…if I married Elizabeth it would be like spitting in his face."

"Then will you marry Margaret?"

Darcy looked back down at where he had vomited. His mind swirled and everything was clouded with a hazy film. Then he impulsively decided.

"By Jove, I _will_ marry her. By Jove, I will. Then it will be impossible to marry Lizzy!" Darcy leaped to his feet, with a vague plan of banging on Lady Margaret's door until she came out in a nightgown and asking her immediately. It would be a bad idea to give himself time to change his mind. He then stumbled and nearly fell on his face.

Richard grabbed Darcy's arm to steady him. "Don't you think you should wait until morning?"

"No! By God, no. By Jove, it is now or never!"

Darcy struggled to get away from Richard. When Richard didn't let him go he punched his cousin in the stomach. A vague bit of his mind remembered now why he _never_ let himself drink too much.

Richard tackled him to the ground and held him down. Darcy threw up again, this time over his coat, and decided to watch the swirling lights.

"Tomorrow morning we'll have John clean you and make you presentable, and you'll ask for an audience with her before breakfast."

The next morning, while still unsteady from drink and the worst hangover he could recall, Darcy found Lady Margaret and led her to a secluded part of the garden.

He absolutely refused to consider the possibility he was making a terrible mistake until the deed was done. But he needed to act fast before his drunken resolution disappeared.

He deliberately bent on one knee and took her hand. His practice let him call up his smile despite his headache and the way he felt like he'd stumbled and was falling down a flight of stairs. A good English stiffness let him speak the words.

"Lady Margaret, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"


	17. Chapter 17

There was an assembly ball in the last week of January. The presence of the militia meant this time Elizabeth had a partner for every dance she wished. It was a whirling, fun set of hours. Even though no one like Darcy was there, Elizabeth enjoyed herself. She _did_ always love balls. Jane and Bingley danced twice, as they had stopped avoiding each other after the New Year's Eve gathering.

Near the end of the evening, Elizabeth remembered Darcy and how he had never come back for her. She begged the partner she would've had to let her sit down for half an hour and take the last set instead.

Elizabeth went to the same chair she had used in October. Mr. Darcy had said he was entranced by the melancholy look on her face. Elizabeth smiled at the dance floor.

She was happy.

He had examined that portrait of the King. Ten feet away from her. She had imagined Bingley had been a man who could love Jane. And then their voices had interrupted her reverie.

"Miss Elizabeth, do you mind if I sit next to you for a minute?"

"Mr. Bingley, of course not."

Bingley plopped into the chair and frowned at his gloves. He fiddled with his sleeves, bunching the wool together and pulling it straight again.

An unspecified anxiety twisted in Elizabeth. "Is there something specific you wish to tell me?"

"Yes, yes — I think you need to hear."

Elizabeth frowned impatiently at him as Bingley sighed again. "I just received a letter from my friend, Mr. Darcy. He has settled at his townhouse in Grosvenor Square for the Season. He shall be very busy as…as Mr. Darcy is engaged to be married."

Everything froze. It felt like her heart was being squeezed in a tight fist. Elizabeth knew this was a second she would always remember in perfect detail. The room was stuffy and stunk of spilt wine. There were the scratches in the wooden floor. The violins clawed out their endless tune. Bingley's voice was kind. Darcy's portrait of the King hung just a few feet away.

Bingley described the woman. Lady Matlock's niece, the daughter of the Earl of Radnor, an enormous dowry. Elizabeth was sure she was reputed to be a great beauty, Darcy after all could marry whoever he wished, but Bingley delicately refrained from saying that.

She should claim she had no particular interest in the matter, and that she was very happy for Mr. Darcy.

It was impossible to speak.

Bingley took Elizabeth's forearm and softly squeezed it. "Do you wish me to find your sister? I could bring her out of the dance."

"No! Oh, no. Please don't interfere with her enjoyment."

"I know there was a…discussion between you two which is why he needed to leave."

Elizabeth looked sharply at Bingley. "He told you what happened between us?"

Bingley shook his head. "No, of course not. He only confirmed the matter related to you when I guessed. Do not think too poorly of my friend — he liked you very much. What am I saying is, don't be too unhappy."

"I want… I need some time alone."

"Of course."

As Bingley walked away, Elizabeth closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

Why had she always believed he would come back?

Elizabeth tried to pretend she was Lady Margaret: beautiful, rich, the daughter of an earl — the woman Mr. Darcy was in love with.

He wasn't in love with her. The damn man would not be faithful to her.

He probably had been planning to marry Lady Margaret while he made her fall in love with him. He probably had found a different mistress in the two months since she refused him. All this time when she was swept daily with longing, he had not thought of her a single time.

Damn him. _Damn_ Fitzwilliam Darcy.

When the music for the dance ended Elizabeth opened her eyes as she knew she needed to look about for her partner for the final set. Jane and Bingley were in a corner of the room. Jane was red-faced as she whispered furiously to Bingley. Probably they were talking about her and Darcy.

Elizabeth had always sworn to never let herself be unhappy. The damn man never thought of her, and he decided to marry less than _two months_ after he talked about how dearly he cared for her and how he felt more affection for her than any other woman. He was a fool. He would regret it eventually.

 _She_ would dance and smile.

Elizabeth kept a fixed smile on her face during the last dance. She spoke flirtatiously with the young lieutenant, and she thought her mixed pain and rage did not show.

Once they returned home, Elizabeth climbed the ladder into her attic bedroom with Jane and stripped to her nightclothes and crawled into bed next to Jane. Elizabeth was seized and embraced tightly.

"I am not unhappy."

"Oh, Lizzy, you are."

"I hate him. He was planning to marry her, or someone just like her, while he flirted with me. While he pretended to become my friend. While he made me tell him everything about myself. I _loved_ him. All that time, he wanted to make me his whore and then marry an earl's daughter."

Jane continued to hold her.

"I hate him. I despise every bit of him."

Jane kissed Elizabeth on the forehead. "You do not."

The sobs came then. She wept into the blankets and Jane's nightdress. She had been so damned stupid.

He had never seen her as anything but a girl to bed.

"Just two months. Couldn't he have waited longer than two months?"

When Elizabeth finally stopped crying and was on the edge of sleep, Jane whispered, "I would have loved you exactly the same if you'd become his mistress."

DODODODO

Two days later, Elizabeth took a long stroll before breakfast. The more she thought about Darcy's behavior, the angrier she became, and as being angry was _not_ being miserably unhappy, she saw no reason not to dwell on the callousness with which he treated women.

Despicable man.

Two months. Just two months.

She wished to talk to Jane. She would complain about Darcy, and Jane would say something kind and comforting.

Jane though was not downstairs, bustling about. Hoping to talk to her sister she went to their room to see if Jane was uncharacteristically still abed. But she wasn't there either. Elizabeth grabbed a book from the bedstand and went downstairs to the drawing room. She saw the maid and asked, "Have you seen Jane at all?"

"No, Ma'am."

Elizabeth shrugged and plopped on the sprigged sofa. Jane must have gone out for a walk, and she would back any minute now. Elizabeth filled her mind with the silly adventures of a young sheltered Miss meeting the _ton_ and making a terrible mess of it. It was a very amusing comedy, but Elizabeth's mind kept convulsively going back to Darcy. She felt sick and rejected. But she shouldn't because _he_ was just a rake.

Breakfast time came, and Jane had not returned. Elizabeth sat at the table with Mama and Mr. Phillips and his family. The bread and ham was brought to the table, and Mr. Phillips said, "Where is Jane?"

Elizabeth replied, "I think she went out this morning, and hasn't returned."

"I won't delay eating for _her_. If she wishes to go hungry, _I_ do not care. She needs to slim down in any case. You too." He gestured at his wife and her sister. "You both are getting fat."

Mrs. Bennet replied, "You are fatter than me and my sister put together."

"Women are supposed to look attractive. Men have real matters to attend to. Just looking at how fat you are makes me want to vomit."

Mr. Phillips was a decidedly horrid man. In addition to his insult against Jane, he was just saying that because he wanted to be rude. As a simple matter of fact, while Mrs. Phillips _had_ lost her figure, Mrs. Bennet was still almost as slender as she had been as a girl.

After breakfast Elizabeth went back to her book. She refused to worry. Jane had met a friend, and they were talking. Perhaps someone needed help.

When time came to help the cook, Elizabeth became really worried. For ten minutes she buried her fingers in the flour and worked. She anxiously glanced towards the door again and again. The only time it swung open was when the cook brought the rest of the supplies in and sat next to Elizabeth.

The heavy middle-aged woman phlegmatically began to ladle the filling into the crusts Elizabeth had prepared.

Elizabeth rubbed a floury hand over her cheek, "You are certain you know nothing of where Jane has gone?"

She looked up, unworriedly, "No, Miss."

This was so unlike Jane. What if something _had_ happened to her? No. Nothing had happened. She was visiting someone, and some emergency had required her presence.

"I must go look for her. I cannot just sit here."

The cook frowned, but shrugged.

Elizabeth ran outside into the bright cold street. It was a cloudless day. She would first see if Jane was visiting Charlotte and Mary at Longbourn and then systematically work her way through every nearby house.

Elizabeth half ran down the mile-long road to her childhood home and entered the house by a back door. When she burst into the drawing room, Charlotte and Mary put down their work. "Lizzy! What is the matter?"

"Have you seen Jane? I've not seen her since I woke this morning. Has she been here? Did she just leave? Maybe by a different way?"

Charlotte tapped her chin. "That is most unlike Jane."

"I know!"

"Don't worry. I'm sure there is a neat explanation. She must be calling on someone whose child fell out of a tree and in the rush didn't think to send a note. Or something of the sort."

"Do you think? That is why I am going around."

Charlotte patted Elizabeth on her shoulders. "If it was _you_ , no one would think anything of it at all."

Mary stood up and offered to call around the houses in the opposite direction from Meryton and send word back if Jane was found.

Elizabeth then went to Lucas Lodge. As she trotted up the lane, she saw Sir William just leaving the house and walking towards Meryton. She hurried next to him. "Sir William, Sir William, have you seen Jane? Is she calling?"

"No. I have not seen her since the assembly ball." He inclined his head and said gallantly, "You and Jane made such a pretty picture at the ball. There is nothing I love so much as a good dance where young persons can enjoy themselves."

Elizabeth, rather rudely, interrupted Sir William to run off.

Mrs. Long did not know. Miss Gould was quite rude and refused to say anything beyond confirming that she had not seen Jane. The Smiths also did not know.

After an hour, Elizabeth returned home. As she walked into Mr. Phillips's house, she decided she had been very silly. Jane had certainly returned, probably from Oakham Mount, and she would laugh at how Elizabeth had left her to work on the pies alone.

Elizabeth went to the kitchen and was met by the rich smell of cooking meat and bread. The cook sat on a chair in the corner of the room, slowly fingering her way through a Bible and hesitantly sounding the words out as she went. The woman looked up at Elizabeth and asked, "Did you find Miss Jane?"

The next hours were an endless swirling mixture of anxiety and worry.

Now that it was decided that Jane was legitimately missing, they informed the mayor and the principal gentlemen. Colonel Forster mobilized the regiment to search for her. People went out to look about the sides of the roads and shine lanterns down empty wells to see if she might be injured somewhere.

Elizabeth stayed at home, so she would immediately hear any news. She wracked her brains trying to think what Jane might have done. Where could she have gone? To Netherfield maybe? But Bingley's sisters had gone to London for the season two weeks ago, and Bingley planned to follow any day now.

Then that vague hope was gone when news returned from Netherfield that Bingley had left for London that morning, with the plan to settle there for the season. Lydia had also been asked, and she had seen nothing of her sister either.

None of the neighborhood had seen Jane. People gathered at the Phillips's house — they were to have a card party that night in any case. Elizabeth helped to make sure the guests were well supplied with tea and pastries. She needed to do something to distract herself.

Mrs. Long and Mr. Gould loudly argued about Jane's likely fate.

"Poor girl." Mrs. Long said, "She has fallen down some abandoned mine shaft and broken her neck. She was such a pretty thing. It is a terrible pity." After making this statement with a dolorous air, Mrs. Long saw Elizabeth staring at her white-faced and said amiably, "Thank you kindly for the tea."

Elizabeth's stomach seized at hearing this speculation. She forced herself to walk away.

Mr. Gould exclaimed, "Nonsense! Miss Bennet knows better than to fall down some mine pit. Besides almost all of those are marked off. No, mark my words. She's run off to London to be the mistress of some rich man she met when staying with her uncle."

Meaning to tell him off for saying that, Elizabeth turned around. Mrs. Long said, "Now, Jane has always been such a decent girl. I've seen no wildness in her." Seeing Elizabeth near again, she said, "Don't take Mr. Gould's horrid speculation to heart, dear. No, it is far more likely she is lying at the bottom of some long drop dead or horribly injured."

"Ha!" Mr. Gould replied, "No girl that pretty is _actually_ virtuous. Especially not with a sister like Lydia."

Made too sick with terror by Mrs. Long's attempt to comfort her to argue with Mr. Gould, Elizabeth retreated to sit in the corner. She buried her head in her hands unable to stop imagining her dear sister falling and breaking her neck.

It was another hour before they received news.

A substantial tenant farmer entered the Phillips's drawing room. The young man had gone to London that morning on business. He grinned with a toothy grotesque glee. "Hahahahaha! So Miss Jane _is_ missing. I barely believed my eyes when I saw her in Mr. Bingley's carriage at the post stop. Ha! And with all her airs. I know Mr. Bingley won't _marry_ her. That's not what they've gone off to do."

"You're lying! Jane wouldn't."

Elizabeth felt everyone's stares poking into her stomach and back.

Mr. Gould laughed and smashed his fist against his hand. "I knew it! This is why I told my little Harriet to have nothing to do with that girl when she came back. Ha, Phillips. Had another runner. Will it be Miss Elizabeth next or Mrs. Bennet?"

Mr. Phillips said, "That vile, worthless _female_. I _always_ knew another of Fanny's girls would disgrace me, but I thought it would be Elizabeth. So Miss Jane has gone off to be Mr. Bingley's mistress. She had best hope he never tires of her, as I'll beat her half to death if I see her again."

Elizabeth shouted, "Jane wouldn't! You all know her. They must plan to marry, or…or it was a different woman you saw…or…"

Mr. Phillips growled, "Sit down. No more talk from you. I ought to throw you out too."

Elizabeth began crying. She sat down on a stiff backed chair.

Maria Lucas sat next to her. "I think it is true. Maybe Bingley abducted her, just like in _Pamela_. Then after Jane resists him he will decide to marry her. Don't you think that would be so romantic?"

"Maria! Come here," Lady Lucas ordered her daughter away from Elizabeth.

None of the other ladies moved to sit near her. Now, they were in an even deeper disgrace. Would even Charlotte still be her friend?

At least Jane was alive.

Anxiety gnawed at Elizabeth's gut. What could have happened? It made no sense. What if Maria was right? Bingley was too friendly and kind for Elizabeth to believe that he would abduct a woman, but it was far easier to believe that of Bingley than to believe Jane would agree to live with him without marriage.

Or maybe they had chosen to elope. That made little sense. Jane had no fortune and there could be no possible objection to him as a husband. But maybe Bingley wanted to elope so he would not need to hear his sisters and friends argue against the match until it was a completed fact.

But Jane still would have told her.

Maybe she had hinted. Elizabeth tried to remember everything Jane had said to her for the past days. Jane had embraced and talked to Elizabeth more than normal, but that was because Elizabeth had been so unhappy to hear about Darcy's engagement.

Right?

 _I would have loved you exactly the same if you'd become his mistress_.

A numb band spread around Elizabeth's stomach and her heart beat faster. _No_. Jane wouldn't have.

Mr. Wickham sat next to her. He sighed, but a smirk lingered on the edge of his features. "Your poor sister. I told you that Mr. Darcy would take his revenge."

"Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth snarled at Mr. Wickham. "I _hate_ that name, and I despise you. My sister has… She has… And your sole thought is to defame him once more."

Mr. Wickham squared the shoulders of his red coat. "I suspect him for more reasons than my dislike. I know for a certain fact that Mr. Bingley visited town yesterday. By this time of year, Darcy has always arrived in London for the season. Bingley must have visited Darcy. If Jane was mentioned, you can well imagine what advice Mr. Darcy gave Bingley. Bingley is easily swayed by his friends, and he would not hatch such a scheme without prompting."

Would Darcy tell Bingley to make Jane his mistress?

He saw nothing wrong with such behavior. But, Elizabeth had told Darcy how good Jane was.

"It hurts me to see you so anxious and devastated." Mr. Wickham touched her hand.

Elizabeth pulled her hand away and said, "It does not matter what Darcy said to Bingley. Jane would never consent to an arrangement. It makes no sense."

"Maybe…maybe she does not go by choice."

"What!" That a second person suggested it made the possibility seem real. They had only known Bingley for four months. A phrase from Shakespeare popped into Elizabeth's mind: _One may smile and smile and be a villain._

Oh, poor Jane. Would he really force her? Violate Jane?

 _No, no, no_. Not Jane.

Wickham said, "You begin to believe me. I think Darcy suggested some blackmail, or maybe they simply grabbed her by force. Great gentlemen can do such things and then escape all punishment for the judge is their friend and…" Wickham gestured around the room. "Even those who have known a virtuous woman her entire life are eager to believe the worst of her. Few will believe that she did not go willingly."

Elizabeth pressed a hand against her chest. The room spun around her and she felt faint and dizzy. "Oh, that Bingley is such a man. We must rescue my sister."

"I fear nothing can be done. I cannot help you, for I fear what Darcy would do should I cross him again."

"Darcy? 'Tis Bingley who took Jane."

"Surely you must understand the plan is Darcy's." Wickham looked eager, as though that was the important point he must make Elizabeth realize.

It snapped Elizabeth out of her horror.

She knew Darcy too well. A man who told the woman he wished to seduce that he did not love her, simply because he did not want her to agree because she thought he did… Elizabeth shook her head. "Mr. Wickham, Darcy would have nothing to do with such a scheme."

Wickham grabbed her hand again and held it tightly. "It hurts my soul to see you still the dupe of such a scoundrel. He is not an honorable man — _you_ know that. You must let go of this pretense that he loves you. He does not. My acquaintance with him is far longer and of far greater depth than yours. You must accept that I have superior knowledge of his character. He _would_ create such a scheme, solely to injure you."

"I _know_ he does not love me. Not in the slightest. Never. He never did." Elizabeth snapped her hand away from Mr. Wickham and stood up. She said in a tense voice, that she hoped did not carry to any of the other guests. "Do _not_ touch me familiarly ever again."

Elizabeth went to the corner of the room and sat in a chair that she turned to face the wall.

 _Pamela_. In the novel, even after he had abducted her, Mr. B wanted Pamela to come to him willingly. He never violated the maid even though he had the opportunity.

Wickham was probably a little right. Darcy had suggested that Bingley make Jane his mistress, and he had said something like, _You must make sure she hears you out. Don't let her walk away until she has enough time to overcome her first revulsion at the idea_. And Bingley had thought Darcy wanted him to take Jane to some out of the way house until she agreed.

Bingley wasn't a villain, even if he did smile and smile. He had acted horribly wrong, but he wouldn't…force himself on Jane. And Jane had been seen healthy and alive at the post stop. Their reputations were shredded even further, but nothing worse had happened. Reputation was not a matter of any _real_ importance when one was still healthy.

A wave of relief swept Elizabeth as she understood what had happened. She still felt sick and anxious but it was a small matter next to the clawing terror she'd felt minutes earlier.

Jane needed to be rescued. Darcy would know where Bingley would hide her.

With a sudden resolution Elizabeth went to her uncle. "I know how to find Jane — we must set off to rescue her immediately."

"By God, no. The worthless slut is gone and good riddance. If she wants to let some rich man tup her in exchange for some filthy silver, I damn well am not going to bother her about it. I wish to God you all had died of a fever as children. Oh, I would be so happy if that had happened."

"But, I think she was abducted by Mr. Bingley. We must rescue her."

Mr. Phillips stared at Elizabeth. Then he giggled. "No, she's tupping him for the money. And lust. Mainly lust. Get away from me, I don't want to see you again tonight, and never bother me about Jane again, or I'll throw you out."

Rebuffed, Elizabeth returned to her seat in the corner of the room.

If Mr. Phillips would not help, what could she do? She _had_ to rescue Jane.

Charlotte entered the drawing room and immediately sat next to Elizabeth and embraced her. "Oh, Lizzy. This must shock you so much. I am shocked too. I would not have expected Jane to do such a thing."

"You believe it? Are you certain you are willing to talk to the sister of such a woman? Your mother would not let Maria speak to me."

"Elizabeth, I will always talk to you. You are my closest friend. I shall speak to Mama. And I will never think ill of a woman who makes such a painful choice. If only Lydia had not ruined Jane's every prospect of a good marriage, things would have been different. Poor Jane. _I_ do not think ill of her at all. And I believe the Almighty is likely to forgive her as well."

"Jane did not. Bingley abducted her."

Charlotte embraced Elizabeth tightly.

"He did. I know he did. Jane wouldn't, even if would be _pragmatic_ , she would not agree to live that way. You know her too well. Her character is so firm and good."

Charlotte's tight squeeze made Elizabeth want to sob. But she wouldn't. Everything would be right in the end. She would find Darcy herself, and he would help her rescue Jane from Bingley, who was simply being a fool, not an evil violator of women, and then Bingley would marry Jane, and everything would be right.

There was no reason to weep.

After Mr. Phillips forced all of his neighbors out of his house, Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Phillips stayed in the drawing room to discuss the happy news.

Mrs. Phillips said, "Our Jane has done decently for herself." She laughed. " _You_ have fallen lower now. I dare say, if Mr. Bennet hadn't died so unfortunately, and you still had Longbourn, Bingley would have married my niece."

Mrs. Bennet replied, "I am not bothered by _that_. Bingley will keep her with him in London, and she'll be able to meet other great gentlemen, his friends. She wasn't so very beautiful for nothing. My wonderful, clever girl! She will find an even richer man, and someday she will be the mistress of an earl or even a duke. And if she finds an old, fond widower, she might convince him to marry her and gain a title. Like Nelson's mistress. Just imagine! My daughter a lady. That would be even better than if Mr. Bennet had lived."

Elizabeth felt too terrible to say anything and retreated to her lonely room.

She had barely enough pocket money to cover a postal fare to London. She approximately knew Darcy's address. His townhouse was in Grosvenor Square. That was enough information to find him. She would beg him to tell her where Bingley was hiding Jane.

Even though she'd settled the plan, and even though everything would turn out well enough in the end, the anxiety in Elizabeth's chest grew and grew, clawing at her heart and at her stomach and tingling down her limbs. She did not let herself think about horrible fates for Jane, but they were there in her mind.

She made herself think about plans.

What would she say to Darcy when she saw him? He would stand there with his flirtatious eyes. _Engaged_. He'd never cared for her.

Damn him.

What if he refused to help her?

Even though he'd not refused to help yet, even though Elizabeth was sure he would help, as she imagined him refusing a terrible rage beat through her chest and jaw.

That vicious rake. That seducer. He _owed_ her, after encouraging her to fall in love with him and then abandoning her. After encouraging Bingley to thieve Jane. After becoming engaged to a different woman.

How _dare_ he refuse to help her? She would make him. She would scream at him, and tell all his family his every misdeed, and his fiancée, and everyone in the whole world what he had done. When he sneered and said he had nothing to do with Jane's abduction, she would make him admit the truth.

She would, she would, she would.

Heart-pounding rage mixed with terror. Elizabeth had no sleep, and her mind twisted sickeningly around and around, refusing to grow quiet. And a distant part of her mind knew that she no longer thought clearly.

Her limbs felt weak and shaky.

She was going to see Darcy, and…she would _tell_ him.

Two months. Stealing Jane. Just two _damn_ months. Hadn't he loved her at least a _little_?

The light crept into the window, Elizabeth raised herself from the bed and gathered her purse. She changed into her faded travelling dress, and with shaky hands she carefully worked her hair into a tight bun that might look passable after four hours on the road. She would still look raggedy when Darcy saw her. Her coat had a patched area, and she wouldn't look like the dignified protector of her sister when he saw it.

Recalling how everyone ran about when Jane disappeared, Elizabeth penned a short note that she left in the middle of the bed. It read: _I am gone to London to rescue Jane since none of you shall. I am sure Mr. Bingley has abducted her, and you will all_ see _the Truth._

Elizabeth quietly snuck out of the house. She looked back. She would not be able to return, as Mr. Phillips would never let her back into his house after she also travelled to London alone. Without Jane here, she did not care.

Her heart beating ceaselessly, Elizabeth walked down to the post station to wait for the coach.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN So oops, I did it again. I missed a chapter. Somehow when I put in the chapters for this, the labels got messed up in my list of documents so that while this chapter, which is chapter 18, is titled DO 18 in the list, but it is number 17. So I see both 17 and 18 next to it, but if I'm not paying attention I just see 17 and upload it it as that, instead of uploading DO 17 as chapter 17.**

 **Anyways the point is, within a half hour chapter 17 should be updated to something new, that will help make this chapter make more sense. :|**

 **Also I owe extra thanks again to my Beta reader Steelio who is reading along with my posting it here, and who caught my mistake and sent me a PM.**

 **In other news, I just landed in Kiev, which on three hours acquaintance does not seem to be at all like what I expected: A hellish post soviet landscape filled with the most attractive women my eyes have ever settled upon. The city seems civilized and not that poor compared to the Balkans or Hungary, while the woman look like women everywhere else in Europe, #disappointment**

Darcy immediately knew after Lady Margaret accepted his offer and gigglingly embraced him that he was the stupidest man in the United Kingdom. It did not take long to realize he was also the most abominably selfish man.

Lady Margaret stiffly gripped the armrest of the sofa she sat on. She leaned forward towards Darcy, who forced himself not to recoil backwards. He listened attentively but couldn't quite smile.

Georgiana sat on the other sofa in the drawing room of Darcy's London house, pretending to read a book.

Lady Margaret spoke in her newly habitual fast chatter. "So everyone was at the play. We were all in the box, and can you guess who came to our box? Can you? Can you? Mr. Darcy?"

"I cannot."

"It was Captain Williams! He sat next to me and Miss Tyler and talked all the way through the play. It would have quite annoyed me, but I was bored by then anyways."

"Forgive me, which play were you watching?"

"Oh, _that_ does not signify. I had a splendid time talking to him. He always dances with me at every ball. I think Captain Williams was flirting with me. An engaged woman. Shocking. Someone should tell him to mind himself in the future."

"I…I shall say something to him next time I see him."

Lady Margaret looked at him with her confused grimace and pulled her hand through her hair and rubbed a curly lock between her fingers.

Darcy knew she was hurt by his inability to act as a proper fiancé. He had never kissed her. Holding her arm or hands made him uncomfortable. Darcy had a terror of the wedding night. He honestly had no idea what he would do when it became his duty to touch her.

The wedding was scheduled for the end of the season, happily a full five months distant. When they made their plans a few hours after he asked her to marry him, Darcy had instinctively talked them round to holding it as late as plausible.

Lady Margaret put her hand on his arm. Darcy did not recoil, this time. "You know I am completely devoted to you. I wish you'd been there to tell him off immediately."

He had meant to trap himself, and he had succeeded. "I promise I will be with you next time. We have a box at the opera tomorrow night. I am looking forward to it."

"You will wear your green coat? You are so handsome in it." She smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"I will do anything for you, my dear."

"Yes. I know you would. Thank you." She ran her fingers through her curls again.

Damn, damn, damn.

It was strange that the only proposal he'd made to a woman which was truly obscene was the honorable one.

The silence had hung, and he could see Lady Margaret was becoming more worried that she had said something wrong. Darcy burst out, "Have you… What did you think of the play?"

"Oh." Lady Margaret laughed nervously. "I didn't realize you would wish to hear. I would have watched closely. I hardly paid any attention past the first act. We all were talking and had such fun. You should have been there. I wish you were."

"I promise, next time. And then we shall dance at two different balls on Thursday."

"Yes, you always dance so well."

Darcy wracked his brains for something to say. The fact was that once he had exhausted superficial small talk, there was little he wanted to say to her. She did read, but their opinions on books were so different, and with Lady Margaret's desperation to gain his approval, she would start trying to guess what he wanted her to think. They didn't have so many friends in common, and while she was a fine horsewoman, that wasn't a very _interesting_ subject.

"Do you wish to ride in Hyde Park tomorrow morning, round about eleven, if the weather permits?"

"Oh, yes. No. I promised Miss Tyler I would visit Lady Emily with her. But I shall tell her that you require me, they will be jealous that I am so needed." Lady Margaret smiled at him.

Darcy suppressed his instinct to tell her that she should keep her first engagement. "Then I shall see you happily."

The clock softly rang out the hour. Lady Margaret stood, "Oh I must leave. I have an appointment for a fitting at Madame Durand's."

Darcy stood with her. He took her hand and kissed it. "Till tomorrow."

"Yes, yes."

Darcy sighed. He again wished he had not entered this engagement. There was no honorable way to end it. Only women were allowed to end engagements. Even hinting that he wished to escape would be deeply dishonorable. It was his duty to _act_ as though he were happy and delighted to marry.

He'd proved to be a poor actor, but unfortunately Lady Margaret was not the sort of woman who would ever end an engagement.

He was selfish and stupid; it was a disaster.

When the door was safely shut on Lady Margaret, Georgiana giggled and laid her book aside. "She was trying to make you jealous."

"What?"

"Oh, I liked talking to Captain Williams so much, and he flirts with me so pleasantly. Hahahaha."

"Oh, yes. I thought so." Darcy frowned. "I did say I would talk with Captain Williams, was that jealous enough?"

"Hahahaha, she wanted you to rage and tell her to never speak to him again, or like nonsense. She is so silly, trying to get your attention when you don't care a whit for her. You must find it terribly annoying. It does prove what I've always thought, marrying without being in love is stupid."

" _Georgiana_! This is not a joke."

His sister shrugged. "I told you she would make a dull wife. I do think she is pretty enough that you could pay some attention to her for a few months." Georgiana giggled again. "It is so funny how you look like a roach is crawling up your back whenever she touches you. If she had any sense at all, she'd realize you are a lost cause, and elope with that Captain Williams — you _deserve_ to be jilted. Too bad that she thinks she is in love with you."

"Is there any chance she will?" Darcy's voice was hopeful. He collapsed into his heavily cushioned chair and buried his face in his hands. "No. She is in love with me."

Georgiana rolled her eyes. "You use a different version of that word _now_. She is an idiot. Dumber than I'd always thought. 'Tis an additional object lesson. But you will be very happy with her dowry at least."

"I am not marrying her for her money."

"Then you want to be Radnor's son so desperately? Whatever. I had expected you to marry her, but when you evidently dislike her—"

"I do not."

"—it becomes much stranger."

They were interrupted by the butler. He opened the ornate door to the drawing room and immediately shut it behind him. He rubbed at his bald pate, worriedly. "A woman wished to speak to you, sir. She appeared distraught. She said—"

The door to the drawing room was hurled open violently.

Elizabeth strode in.

For an instant Darcy's heart leapt with hope that she had changed her mind. Her eyes blazed, red and bloodshot; Darcy's attention was fully caught by the beautiful angles of her face.

She slapped him, hard and fast.

"My sister — what have you done with my sister!"

"What?"

"Jane! Yellow haired, very beautiful, _my sister_ — your friend stole her."

"I have no idea—"

"No lies! Bingley would not hatch such a scheme on his own. He visited you two days ago."

" _Elizabeth_! I have not seen Bingley since November."

She sneered. "Who else would he visit in London before _stealing_ my sister. You corrupted him. Did you also suggest he use force? Did you?"

"Where did you ever get such an idea?"

"Mr. Wickham said you make a practice of stealing girls for pleasure."

"Mr. Wickham?"

"I wouldn't let you make me your mistress — is that why? Is that why you encouraged Bingley to abduct my sister?"

She pulled back her arm to slap him again, and Darcy instinctively caught her arm this time. "Madam, do not be absurd. If I made a practice of abducting women, I assure you it would not be Jane whom I abducted."

She viciously pulled her arm away from him. "I thought you felt _something_ for me. That you just were lying to yourself when you said you did not love me. But _two months later_. I understand that you would not, could not marry me, but did you _ever_ care anything for me? You didn't. You only thought of me _once_ since we parted, and that was when you told Bingley to abduct Jane."

"I told Bingley nothing, because I _haven't_ seen him."

"Damn you, damn you, damn you. I _loved_ you. And you just tried to use me, and then…then… Oh, damn you! And…and…" She sobbed and covered her eyes with her hands. "I just need to rescue Jane. Please."

He had thought of her every single day since they parted.

Darcy tried to think on practical matters. Had Jane really gone off with Bingley?

"Miss," Georgiana spoke. Darcy had half-forgotten her presence. Though she kept her voice sympathetic, Darcy saw from the glow in his sister's eyes that she was delightedly amused at seeing him be slapped and shouted at in this manner. "Miss, you mustn't trust Mr. Wickham. Last summer he made me think I was in love with him, but I was not so stupid as to agree to an elopement, and since then he has viciously abused the character of my family at every opportunity."

Elizabeth jumped when Georgiana spoke. She brushed at her tears with the sleeve of her dress. "Oh — I had no idea — you must be Miss Darcy — I should not have — not in front of your sister—"

In a natural motion Darcy took Elizabeth's hand. "Do not worry. Tell me about Jane. What happened?"

Elizabeth swallowed convulsively. Her anger was gone for the moment, and she looked at him with trusting eyes. "She disappeared yesterday morning, and then a man saw her at a post station in Bingley's carriage. He abducted her. Forgive me, I know you would not have, not really… I am so unsettled…"

Tears were running from her eyes, and her throat caught. Darcy remembered how she had brushed his tears away that day in the woods. Without even thinking he brushed his hand over her wet cheeks, his fingers running along her silky skin. "Lizzy, Lizzy, I have wronged you deeply, though not in that way. Anger is natural."

He remembered he was engaged and dropped her hand and forced himself to back away. Darcy pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and he handed it to Elizabeth. She brushed at her eyes and tried to stand straight. She looked at Georgiana in brief glances.

Georgiana stared unembarrassedly back. "I did not mind seeing this at all, but with Mr. Wickham, you must only pay attention to his face and figure, never his words." Georgiana giggled. "You _know_ Fitzwilliam enough that you can't really believe he'd abduct a woman."

"He would try to ruin a woman. Even if he cared nothing for her."

"Oh, do not take Lady Margaret so seriously. He likes _you_ far more. He only is marrying _her_ because he is a nitwit. You should see them together. It is quite funny, but I doubt you would be left jealous."

Darcy wanted to touch and hold Elizabeth. He _could_ help her find her sister. "They were on the road into London?"

"I must rescue her. I must. Oh, poor Jane. They were headed for London. Where else? Have you any notion where your friend would take her."

"Bingley would not force a woman in any way."

"He was seen with Jane! At the post station when Mr. Chandler was changing horses. They were together." Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. "Oh — I am so anxious, I cannot think. I knew you would not, I told myself again and again as I rode here it was only Wickham's hatred that would say that. You may not have cared anything for me, I now know you couldn't have loved me, but you never lied. You respected my refusal — I know that. Oh God. Poor Jane. But there is time, Bingley must hope she will agree eventually. He wouldn't force himself on her."

Darcy laid a soft hand on Elizabeth's shoulder.

She took a deep breath. And then another. She looked up. Her face was pale.

"Elizabeth, is it not more likely — do you not think — I think she freely agreed to travel with him."

"No! Jane wouldn't! My sister would never enter such an arrangement — I would not, and she is better than me. You know her, you have seen her virtue. I have told you about her, about how good Jane is, and, and… I _know_ she must have been forced to go with him."

"You know."

Darcy felt pain behind his eyes and in his throat. He wanted to cry for her.

Bingley would never treat a woman in the manner Elizabeth suggested, but for a second he almost wished for her sake that he would. No, Darcy was quite sure that Elizabeth's sister had reacted differently than she had when offered the choice to become a wealthy man's mistress.

Elizabeth said, "You must have some idea where she might be. Please. Help me rescue Jane before it is too late. I beg you, if the friendship and affection you held for me once meant anything, please help me."

Darcy remembered what it was like to refuse to believe a dear family member had done something. For weeks he'd been convinced his father couldn't possibly have killed himself. He had tried to question all of the servants and neighbors to see if anyone had seen a sign of the true murderer. Everyone looked at him with sad eyes and shook their heads.

At last his uncle forced him to stop and dragged him back to Matlock, and Darcy accused his uncle of having hired the murderer for some dark purpose. Darcy saw again his father's suicide note.

"I have some idea where Bingley may have gone. We'll go rescue your sister."


	19. Chapter 19

Elizabeth watched Darcy silently as they waited in his opulent drawing room for the carriage to be made ready. She could not sit down and her hands still trembled. She had been thrown between such extremes of emotion.

She had not eaten since a few bites yesterday afternoon; her stomach churned, but she felt nausea, not hunger.

Darcy had been so kind about how she'd slapped him and shouted at him. Even though he was to be married he still looked the same. He still looked at her the same way. He shouldn't; he did not love her. He did not love anyone.

Miss Darcy grinned at her. "I have been most curious to meet you, Elizabeth. You do not mind if I call you Elizabeth, do you? I am sure we are to be the best of friends."

Darcy's sister sat on a blue and yellow sofa with her legs pulled up under her. Elizabeth knew she was only sixteen, but she was tall and had a woman's figure. Her voice was inappropriately cheerful and chirpy.

Darcy replied severely, "Georgie—"

"Fitzwilliam would hardly speak about you directly. I only got him to talk the once. He is quite dull and backward about such things, but he has been in quite a mood these past months."

"I have told Miss Bennet about your piano playing, why don't you display for us?"

"Nonsense — I want us to become friends. Can we be friends?"

There was something warming about the girl's cheerfulness. Elizabeth smiled at her, and the smile felt good despite the twisted ball of anxiety in her gut. "I would like to be friends — but I am not sure your brother would view it as quite, ah, proper." It was strange that she could tease him at such a time, and so soon after she had embarrassed herself so completely. The pain still sat in her stomach, but it was nice to ignore it. Elizabeth smiled and arched her eye at Darcy. "He can after all be quite dull and backward about such things."

Georgiana said, "You needn't worry about that — Uncle Charlie is my primary guardian, and he is not dull at all."

Darcy looked between the two of them and said, "It would delight me if you became friends. Miss Elizabeth, you are more respectable company than many my uncle has introduced Georgie to."

Elizabeth's eyebrows raised at that.

Georgiana leaned forward eagerly. "You can call her _Elizabeth_. After all you've called her that so many times. No need to be formal _now_."

He had. Automatically. And she hadn't noticed. Elizabeth unconsciously began smiling.

Georgiana hopped up and shook Elizabeth's hand vigorously. "So then we are friends! I'm normally quite shy, but I never shall be in your presence. Not after I saw you rush into the room and slap Fitzwilliam. He deserved it. I have wanted to slap him on occasion myself. I could say anything to you, and not feel embarrassed at all, because you have acted even more improperly in my presence."

"Yes…" Elizabeth's face felt hot. "Well, I am pleased you are not scared of me."

"In most cases, I wouldn't approve, but you were completely right to not become my brother's mistress. I kicked him for you when he told me what he said while asking you."

Elizabeth rubbed at her neck. "What…did he tell you?"

"That he said he didn't love you. What sort of man would say _that_ at such a time?"

Darcy was looking the other direction with his hand covering his forehead. His cheeks were red. At least she wasn't the only one embarrassed.

There was a soft knock on the door, and the butler entered the room and informed them that the carriage was ready.

In her chirpy voice, Georgiana said, "I should go with you. To keep respectability."

Darcy and Elizabeth both stared at her.

Georgiana enthusiastically said, "As a single woman, you should not travel alone with my brother. It might damage your reputation. I definitely should go with you both." She nodded her head seriously, but was clearly suppressing a grin.

What did Darcy wish? Elizabeth glanced at him, and the way he frowned at his sister suggested that however much _Georgiana_ wished to observe scandalous scenes, her brother did not wish her to.

Elizabeth also did not wish the company of this girl who simply did not understand how awful the situation was.

"I trust your brother to leave my virtue intact, and as for my reputation, that is hardly worth worrying about any longer."

Georgiana began in a whiny voice, "But it will be so interesting…"

"Georgie, no."

They were silent as Darcy led her to the side exit of the house where the carriage stood under an awning. Four fine horses that stamped eagerly were hitched to the carriage. There was a group of footmen and postilions in splendid livery. The carriage was a large landau with a closed roof.

Darcy handed her in, and Elizabeth slipped comfortably onto the blue velvet cushions. There were intricate carvings traced into the expensive dark wood of the interior's paneling. The carriage set off with a jolt that Elizabeth barely felt through the springs. It was warm despite the winter cold because of the hot water bottles and furs on the floor and under the seats.

It showed her how very rich Mr. Darcy was in a way that only seeing his fine, but understated clothing had not.

He seemed determined not to speak. It was so strange seeing Darcy again, his shoulders were broad, and the curve of his lips and jaw was firm and strong. His lips were pale red. Elizabeth remembered how they had tasted, and the jittery jolts in her stomach when their tongues pulled and pushed against each other.

Elizabeth forced her eyes away and looked out the window at the passing streets of London.

He was now engaged, and it was even more wrong to fantasize about him than before. Elizabeth's teeth began to grind.

It was right and just for her to be angry. It didn't _matter_ if Georgiana was right, and he did not like Lady Margaret much.

They drove away from the most fashionable district into one of the broad districts of houses for the merely well-to-do. Elizabeth blinked and rubbed at her eyes. The movement of the carriage was lulling her. She needed to be alert.

Would she at last find Jane, or was this another dead end? Elizabeth's anxiety returned and gripped her belly, driving away the sleepiness.

She asked Darcy, "Where are we headed?"

"It is the house where Bingley kept his previous mistress. He owns the building direct, and it has only been empty a few months. I doubt he rented it."

"Oh. How do you think he shall react — might Bingley become violent?"

Darcy looked at her as though she were being stupid again. He was humoring her, and she wished to push that into the open. "You'll see. Jane doesn't want to be with him. She wouldn't sell herself — she would not agree to anything but the most honorable offer."

Darcy looked at her, his clear blue eyes bore into hers. They were tight around the edges, as though he was on the edge of crying for her.

"You don't know her. Not like I do. You were raised to be cynical, to not believe in people. I believe in Jane. You will too. You'll see."

"Elizabeth, I do believe in people."

"Damn you! Two months. _How_ could you possibly forget everything we meant to each other? I told you everything, I believed in you, I believed you loved me underneath your words, and that you were just frightened of what you felt."

"Elizabeth, I—"

" _Don't_ use my name. The entire time you planned _to marry_ some great lady for her money. No wonder you thought I'd be your whore. _You'll_ do anything for money."

He didn't respond. His shoulders curled inwards and he stared at his lap.

"Say _something._ Don't sit there like a beaten dog. I thought you had some decency left in your soul. Don't you think marriage means something? Does _she_ know you do not love her? That you keep mistresses, that you— Damn you, say something."

He said, without lifting his head, "I have wronged you greatly."

"I don't _care_ about that. But what is _wrong_ with you? How could you speak so sweetly to me and then offer for another woman? "

"Because I am the stupidest man in Great Britain. I made a terrible, selfish, stupid mistake when I engaged myself to Lady Margaret, and I am trapped, and there is nothing I can do to undo my mistake."

Darcy looked wretched. His eyes were wild and his cheeks pale.

Elizabeth breathed out, "Oh."

He slumped again and turned away from her.

He knew he'd made a mistake. A stupid smile tried to force its way onto Elizabeth's face. She laid her hand on Darcy's wrist. When he looked at her, Elizabeth softly said, "I forgive you."

He looked at her as though he wished to speak, but then nodded his head.

They were silent for the rest of the trip.

It was a fair sized house on the edge of town. There was a modest garden with rose bushes surrounding it. Smoke rose from two of the chimneys, showing that it was currently occupied.

Jane wouldn't be here. Maybe…maybe she had resisted so fiercely that Bingley hurt her? What if—

Darcy slammed the knocker down hard. Crack. Crack. Crack.

Was it wise for them to announce their presence? They should sneak around and enter from the back so that Bingley could not hide anything.

The door was opened by a respectable enough looking middle-aged woman. "Mr. Darcy! Whatever are you doing here, I doubt that Mr. Bingley shall appreciate an interruption."

"He is here then?"

"Yes, sir. He is with the new mistress in the drawing room."

The woman pointed to a door on one side of the hallway.

For the second time that day Elizabeth rushed past a servant to throw herself into a drawing room without announcement.

Jane sat next to Mr. Bingley on a deep red sofa. The lines of their bodies molded against each other, and they were kissing before the shock of her entrance caused them to jerk away from each other and look at the door.

"You." She threw an accusing finger towards Bingley. "What have you done to my sister? Did you blackmail her — have you used force against her — what have you done — how dare you—"

Bingley blinked at her, his curly hair awry. "Miss Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth stalked towards him, her hand raised to strike.

Jane jumped up and grabbed her arm. The two girls struggled together, then Elizabeth ripped her hand free and went to attack Bingley again, but Jane pushed her back. "I am the one you should be angry at. I sought Bingley out — he did not seek me out. I offered to go under his protection."

"Don't lie to protect him—"

"Lizzy, I am not so perfect as you. I made this choice. And I have never been so happy. Every hour since I've left Meryton has made me more sure I chose rightly. I am glad I am here with Charles instead of with Mama and Phillips and _you_."

"I know you don't mean that. You are just trying to protect him."

"I _want_ this. I _chose_ it. Are you really so blind? I am _not_ who you insist on pretending I am."

"Jane, you like him and your heart is tender and generous. But in such a matter, you should not try to hide Mr. Bingley's sin. We just wish to rescue you and—"

"Damn you! Lizzy, damn you! I am so damned tired of you thinking I am perfect and that I never have a wrong thought about anything. I am done! I wanted to be with Bingley, and I seized the opportunity."

Elizabeth stared at her sister in horror. Her dress was new and showed a deep cleavage. She didn't wear a corset. Her eyes burned with anger. Jane had willingly done this.

The sisters silently stared at each other. Elizabeth wondered if she had always known and only refused to think it.

Bingley spoke in a strangely cheerful voice. "Darcy, my dear fellow, what are _you_ doing here. I understand Miss Elizabeth, of course."

"I was the hackney cab."

"Right, well—"

"Bingley."

Elizabeth did not remove her eyes from Jane, but she knew Darcy had gestured for him to exit the room when Bingley stood and said, "Yes, best leave them to it."

The door shut leaving Elizabeth alone with Jane. "How could you — you know it is wrong."

"You will hate me now. You can't love me now that you know I'm not _your perfect Jane_ — you will never accept that I could make such choice."

"Please, why?"

"Why wouldn't I? I am tired of being poor. I hate being poor. You thought I didn't care, but I cared. And he likes me. Charles likes me so much, but with Lydia… No gentleman will ever offer for me. And he will take care of me. I am _tired_ of how _they_ despise me for things I did not choose. _Now_ they can despise me for who I am and for what I choose. Damn them all. I hate every person in Meryton."

"It is wrong, to live with him… I thought you would never… You never do the wrong thing. Jane…you don't need to do this. I'll do twice as much, so you don't need to help with chores ever. I really don't need your help. I'm faster than you anyways. Don't do this, Jane. Don't be this. And…we can live together somewhere in London. Darcy will make Bingley give you little for destroying your reputation, and then no one will know that you—"

"Listen for once! I _want_ this. It is not a choice of desperation; it is my chance to be happy and to _choose_ my own life."

"But, Jane. We can still be happy. I forgive you for this, it was a moment of weakness and I know you've been desperate, but you do not really wish to give up friends and family and… Jane, just come back to Darcy's house with me, and we will decide what to do next. Please."

Jane clenched and unclenched her fists. "Stop! Stop! Stop! I am _never_ going back."

"You do not mean that. Think about us. Think about your family, you will shame us and…"

"Family?" Jane laughed bitterly. "This is what I was _taught_ to do. I am just being an obedient daughter, unlike you. Mama taught us to sell our beauty at the best rate, and _she_ will not be displeased at how I have done."

Elizabeth's emotions spun into a sudden wild anger, like what she'd felt towards Darcy. "Mama! _She_ is your excuse. You sell yourself, _as a whore_ ; you'll become the whore of Meryton to please Mama?"

Elizabeth made a fist and beat it against the palm of her other hand until it hurt.

"I choose to act for myself."

"Whore."

"I knew you would despise me as soon as you realized I was not perfect."

"Of course I despise you. Whore. You are selling your body to the best bidder. Whore."

"I love Bingley! I'd not let another man touch me." Jane's shriek pierced Elizabeth's ears. "I am no whore. You do not hate me for coming to Bingley — you hate me for not being the perfect person you have always demanded I acted like. The details don't matter."

"Selfish _whore_." Part of Elizabeth was shocked that she was saying such things, but she had no control over her mouth now.

"I am helping the family — I am not selfish. I will give Mama something, and Bingley will provide a small dowry for Kitty and Mary."

"I don't want your miserable money."

"I knew you wouldn't. You are perfect — a saint — you live in that imaginary world of yours, and don't care whether you are poor. You always say" — Jane adopted a high-pitched mocking tone — " _so long as we have food to eat, clothes to wear, and a place to sleep, there is no reason to be unhappy_. And you meant it, but I care. I don't want to live like that. You don't need any money because you can just be happy in your fantastical imagination."

"I live in the real world. I just refused to let it make me unhappy. I refused to let it make me a _whore_."

"You are always so sure of yourself. You always said some stupid handsome fool would marry me if I waited. But that is a _lie_."

Tears streamed down Elizabeth's face. She was so stupid. Why had she been certain Jane would never do this?

The hardness in Jane's face suddenly left, and she said in a pleading tone, "Lizzy, please don't hate me."

"You are not my sister. My sister is a good woman. My sister does the right thing. My sister would never act as you have."

"Well go love _her_. You've never loved _me_."


	20. Chapter 20

After Darcy called Bingley out of the drawing room the two stood in the entrance hall. Darcy's mind was entirely with Elizabeth.

She had believed completely in Jane.

How could he help her? It may take her much time to accept the situation. How might he be her friend? Any other thought about her must be absolutely banished — he wished her happiness, he had always wished her happiness, far more than any selfish desire to take his own pleasures.

He now had nothing to offer her but friendship.

Bingley fiddled awkwardly, and as he wasn't wearing his coat he slapped at his side several times, reaching for something in a pocket which was not there. Giving up, he pulled the bell to call a servant. When the housekeeper appeared, he said, "Bring me a cigar and a bottle of something good — perhaps the scotch."

The woman bowed and hurried off. Bingley turned to Darcy. "Damn it all, Darcy. I swear I did not—"

"I know." Darcy's reply was curt. His mind was filled with Elizabeth, and Bingley's role in her unhappiness left him irrationally annoyed with his friend.

"Dash it. I've done nothing amiss — she approached me. It was her suggestion. Jane was born a gentlewoman. I would never have considered seducing her, no matter how much I liked her. But _she_ approached me."

"I know." Darcy's voice was softer. It was odd his friend was the one who would never consider a seduction.

"You know I've done nothing wrong."

"Bingley." Darcy closed his eyes and exhaled with pain. "I do not think you acted wrongly."

His friend nodded and smiled. "I'm glad."

"I apologize for bringing Miss Elizabeth here in such a manner, it was rude. But she was distraught."

The sisters' voices had been muffled by the heavy oak door of the drawing room. An uncharacteristic shout from Jane was loud enough to be clear, "I love Bingley!"

Bingley's cigar had arrived at last, and he had a silly grin. Bingley took a long pull and exhaled the astringent smoke.

It was impossible for Darcy not to smile at how his friend enjoyed the unschooled statement of Jane's preference.

The two were silent as the conversation went on more quietly behind the door. The words could not be caught, but Darcy could tell Elizabeth's tone was far sharper than Jane's. He heard the word whore several times.

Embarrassed, Darcy spoke to Bingley, "You shall treat her well?"

A little embarrassed himself, Bingley replied, "Of course I shall. You know I shall. She is a sweet girl who has placed herself under my protection. I would be the worst sort of creature if I did not treat her with the strongest affection and concern. Besides, I've always liked my Jane enormously. From the first time I saw her."

Bingley stood smiling, the smoldering cigar held easily in his hand, and his usual genial good nature shone out. Darcy could see easily the appeal his friend had for Miss Bennet.

Darcy nodded, and not wishing to overhear any more of the conversation on the other side of the door, looked about quickly for a topic. "You will forgive me, I am sure — it is an uncomfortable—"

The door to the drawing room was flung open, this time from the inside. Elizabeth stood there in her woolen traveling dress and blue pelisse. Her eyes darted between them. Tears had started their way down Elizabeth's reddened cheeks, and she sniffled piteously. She hiccupped and ran past the two gentlemen and out the front door.

With a quick glance at Bingley, who went to speak with Miss Bennet, Darcy started after Elizabeth. When he reached the street, he saw no sign of her, but glancing down the road saw her running, already near hundred feet away. She headed towards what Darcy knew to be a nearby shopping district. He jogged after her and sighed with relief when she stopped running and settled against the steps up to a small detached house. He could see her chest heaving as she gasped for air.

Darcy slowed, to give her time for herself before she must face another person, and because he was out of breath in the cold January air.

When Darcy arrived, Elizabeth had ceased panting. She sat on one step with her arms wrapped around her legs. Her face was blotchy with tears.

She had been seated a little like this the first time he saw her. She had been sad then — sad about her Jane being treated unfairly — but she had controlled her feelings, and brought herself to smile.

He sat next to her and took one of Elizabeth's hands and tightly gripped it, hoping his presence would comfort her a little.

"I can't — I can't pretend."

Darcy cradled her hand with both of his.

"I cannot pretend Jane is still virtuous. This was her choice. I cannot pretend she would never… It is real. I need to cease lying to myself. Nothing can ever be good. Nothing ever is good."

"Oh, Lizzy."

Elizabeth threw her arms around Darcy and wept into his shoulder.

Darcy pulled her trembling form against him, and he rubbed her back, letting his fingers brush over her spine and rub into the knots of her shoulders. He needed to somehow see Elizabeth happy again. It was a more powerful feeling than any he had known before.

Darcy kissed her forehead and hair. He hoped that the more pain he felt for her, the better she might feel for herself. It was such a cold grey day.

A carriage rumbled down the street, and someone walked along the sidewalk the other direction, glancing at her and Darcy, but hurrying on in embarrassment when he realized Darcy saw him as well.

He loved her so dearly.

Elizabeth pulled away, but her eyes lingered on his. "I should not have grabbed you so — I still can barely believe that Jane would — I should not have imposed upon you, and—"

Darcy shook his head and laid his finger on Elizabeth's lips. It was instinctive, and even though the material of his glove separated their skin, he was aware of the intimacy of the gesture. "It is natural to ache when you see how flawed one you love is. I am _glad_ you turned to me."

Elizabeth blushed and turned her face away, but immediately she looked back at Darcy. Her face was wet, and her nose dripped with tears, and he handed her his handkerchief. She brushed at her face, and then blew her nose. An awareness of their position and how vulnerable she was came to Darcy. He wanted to wipe her tears off himself, but would not abuse their friendship by pushing more intimacy upon her when she was so injured.

Darcy stood and waved for his carriage, which stood on the nearest street corner, to pull up close so they could enter it. He helped Elizabeth to her feet and instinctively brushed his lips against her forehead again.

It was not wrong. It was almost a brotherly gesture.

Darcy handed her into the carriage. He sat on the opposite side from her, but Elizabeth shifted, and rested her boot against his. Darcy ached for her unhappiness, and there was no conversation. It seemed impossible to talk.

He did not let himself stare at her, but she unapologetically watched him.

A thought rose in Darcy's mind. _Now_ was when he could convince her to live with him. She was hurt and had accepted him again as a friend. She had turned to him for comfort. Before it had been the thought of Jane which kept her from agreeing, but now that thought would point in a different direction.

He would _never_ take advantage of her.

Elizabeth yawned and stretched in a kittenlike manner. She rubbed at her eyes and giggled wetly. "I am so tired. Fitzwilliam, thank you so much. I must say it again and again, I insulted you so, and you paid me back with such kindness. I did not deserve it."

"You do."

"And in front of Miss Darcy. Those accusations were absurd. I _know_ you too well. I am irrational, uncontrolled today. I also yelled at Jane. I should have been kinder, even though she has… Oh, I never would have screamed that way at any other person, why did I _wish_ to hurt Jane with my words?"

"It is different when those you believe in most completely hurt you."

Elizabeth blinked tiredly, and yawned again. "Oh, yes, your father. He shot himself." She blushed. "Oops, I should not have spoken so bluntly. Was that why you took me to see Jane?"

"It…it was on my mind, but I would have helped _you_ no matter what."

Elizabeth blushed and bit her lip, smiling. "Oh."

He was not going to try to seduce her. Even if she smiled at him so.

She briefly squeezed his hand. "You are so good. Even, even to those who you have no…connection to. Did you really mean it was a mistake to engage yourself to Lady Margaret?"

Her eyes were wide and soft. She looked winningly at his face.

Darcy's heart beat faster. "Elizabeth, I am not good."

"You do use my name, without any thought. Miss Darcy was right. You have such a nice way of speaking it."

He took her hand in his and said seriously, "I do not deserve your affection."

She sighed happily. Her face had such a tender expression. "You are very good. I do not see how you can doubt that. Even if you do make awful mistakes."

"Such as when I asked you to become my mistress?"

"That was a mistake. I think. Oh, I am not sure any longer. Do you still believe you were right?"

"Elizabeth, I do not regret wanting you, I do not regret seeking you. I only regret that… I wish we had remained friends."

She seized one of his hands in both of hers and brought it up to kiss. "Fitzwilliam, I shall always be your friend. You cannot lose that."

As Elizabeth claimed to enjoy her name on his lips, he adored how she had rolled the syllables of his name. And the touch of her hands. He wished he was not wearing gloves, so that he could feel her hand skin to skin, nerves against nerves. Darcy pulled in a deep breath and forced himself to take back his hand. "I swear I will not abuse your good nature."

Her eyes sparkled with emotion. "I trust you completely, Fitzwilliam."

Darcy smiled at her, and then Elizabeth yawned and stretched unselfconsciously. Her movement made her breasts stand out. She was still hurt and not entirely herself.

She leaned against the cushions again, and her eyes blinked shut. The curve of her nose was so fetching. And she had light freckles around her cheeks, and long eyelashes, and her eyebrows were bold and striking. Her hair was a mess, parts of it having fallen out of a simple bun. Her lips were slightly parted and each soft breath pouted them outwards. She was wearing the same old and faded coat she had always worn in Hertfordshire.

Elizabeth suddenly shook herself and opened her eyes, exclaiming, "I never should have called Jane a…a whore. She is my sister. It is _me_ who is a horrid person. She cares for him and… I said she was not my sister. She was right, I do pretend. I do live in a fiction so much."

"Elizabeth…you are a good and dear woman."

Elizabeth seemed comforted by his fervent tones, and she closed her eyes again.

The soft jolts over the cobbled streets in London lulled Elizabeth, and her face relaxed into sleep. She had a tiny snore. His Elizabeth was so innocent and soft, and she looked more girlish than she did when awake. Her nose and cheeks were red from when she had cried, but as Darcy watched the color slowly faded. A small bubble of drool collected on the edge of her mouth.

When they reached his house, and the carriage stopped, Elizabeth did not wake. Darcy shook her shoulder a little. She blinked around in confusion, and Darcy realized he should have asked her for the directions to her uncle in London when they left Bingley's place.

Before Darcy could ask if she wished to go there immediately, Georgiana pulled open the door from outside.

"Heavens, it is cold today. Elizabeth, I am so pleased to see you again. Did you find your sister?"

Before Darcy could say anything, Georgiana grabbed Elizabeth and pulled her indoors, explaining that she'd drawn a bath for their guest, as after such long trip on the road, she must be dreadfully dirty, and now that everything was settled she of course should relax.

Elizabeth followed his sister blinking tiredly, but she confessed herself not unwilling to take a bath.

DODODODO

Several hours later Elizabeth was still bleary eyed from her nap when Darcy handed her into his carriage. Georgiana hopped in quickly behind her.

Before Elizabeth undressed for the bath, Georgiana had tried to comfort her with the consideration that since it was inevitable men would have mistresses, it was necessary that some women would agree to such a role.

Despite that _not_ comforting Elizabeth at all, she liked Darcy's sister.

She had fallen asleep in the large tub the Darcys possessed, and had been woken hours later by a maid and Georgiana when Darcy decided that since it was falling dark he absolutely needed to take her to her uncle's house if the slightest semblance of propriety was to be maintained.

Georgiana of course wished to go along, to spend more time speaking to her new friend. Neither of them had any objection this time. The strength of her emotion towards Darcy was too strong, and Elizabeth was glad someone else was present now. She desperately wanted to hug him and let him hold her again. She had felt so much better after he let her cry.

Even though she should be miserable about Jane, Elizabeth wasn't any longer. She chatted with Georgiana cheerfully, though Darcy was mostly silent.

However, halfway through the trip, Georgiana wailed, "Oh! I shall need to meet your relatives, shall I not?"

Darcy said in a dry tone, "Unless you wish to stay in the carriage, like a child."

"Oh, oh. I never know what to say. Lizzy, what shall they think of me? They will think it strange that we are coming, will they not? Shall they be angry at you, since you did not retrieve your sister? Maybe I should stay in the carriage. I would not know what to say to them."

The shift in the girl's persona brought a smile to Elizabeth as she watched Georgiana smooth out the line of her gown. "Mr. Darcy did say you were quite shy. _You_ have no need to worry. I do not know if you shall like Kitty, I have not spoken with her much this past year, and she is no great writer — but my aunt is a sensible and kind woman, and she will treat you with understanding."

"Oh — I always do something amiss when I meet new persons. And if I do not it is because I am frozen stiff. There is something so uncomfortable about being observed by a person you do not trust completely. I know it is absurd. But I think it would be a far nicer world if society could be dispensed with and you only had to talk to friends and family. Besides — because I always sit on the side of a drawing room reading, other women tend to ignore me and talk as though I were not there. They are often so cruel towards everyone in their words. I know I should not care if other people are judging me, but it is so uncomfortable to imagine still. It is simpler to just avoid people and—"

"Georgie." Elizabeth took the girl's hand and squeezed it. "You have nothing to worry about. You are sweet and likeable, and we will never speak nor think ill about you. My aunt will like you."

"I know _you_ will never say something mean about me when I am not present. I fancy you would never hide an ill opinion from someone. If I offend you, you will tell me so directly."

"I do not speak all of my mind to everyone, I assure you."

"But you like me. You are rude to those you like."

Darcy grinned at Elizabeth, flashing his dimples. "That is quite right. I take it as a sign of affection that you slapped me and insulted me this morning. I can see our dear Georgie will not trust in your friendship until we find some cause for you to yell at her over."

Elizabeth laughed. "But she seems so sweet. And demure. Georgie, if you offend or annoy me, I promise I shall find some _kind_ way to speak of it to you, if that is what you wish."

Elizabeth heard her shouts at Jane echo in her mind again. _Whore, whore, whore._ Well Jane deserved it. Jane had betrayed their sisterhood. She had betrayed everything Elizabeth believed her to be. She had—

"Lizzy, did I say something—"

"Shhh, she is thinking about her sister. Elizabeth, do remember that you love her. It is those who we have the greatest affection and respect for who can hurt us most."

Tears slipped out of the edge of Elizabeth's eyes, and Darcy handed her his handkerchief, was this the second or third which he'd given her today? She wiped at her cheeks and blew her nose. His smile was sympathetic, as though he understood exactly what she felt.

Georgiana squeezed her hand. She could tell Darcy wished to, but also that he was determined to maintain some sort of propriety in front of his sister.

The maid who opened the door exclaimed, "Miss Lizzy! You are well. There was such a to do when Mr. Phillips sent a letter saying you'd gone after Miss Jane."

The girl looked around, and her face fell. "You did not find your sister?

"She is lost. Ruth, can you take us to the drawing room?"

Miss Darcy _was_ in fact shy when they were presented to the family. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and Kitty stood for the introduction as soon as the maid led the group to the drawing room. Her aunt and uncle bowed and curtsied in a frigid manner. With a cold feeling in her gut, Elizabeth remembered that she had told Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner about how Darcy had tried to make her his mistress.

Mr. Gardiner looked at Darcy with almost a snarl. Darcy impassively met his stare. Mrs. Gardiner looked Elizabeth over, and then turned to Darcy with her own frown.

After the introductions a silence stretched on. Elizabeth felt uncomfortable. It seemed a terribly long time during which the only sound was the low clicking of a pendulum clock swinging in the corner.

Georgiana's face was stiff and lacked the fluidity it had when she spoke with Elizabeth. She had promised Georgie they would make her welcome, but that was not happening.

Mrs. Gardiner at last forced herself to speak, "We are always — I am glad to see you ended up here, Lizzy." She then said in a perfunctory tone to Mr. Darcy, "We are obliged that you would transport our niece here."

Darcy inclined his head. "It was a pleasure to be of service to her; I have the greatest respect for her."

Mr. Gardiner spoke sharply, "We know how much you _respect_ Elizabeth."

Elizabeth flushed. She had been so stupid when she let Mama's insults make her speak about Mr. Darcy's offer.

Everyone was quiet again. Besides the clock's ticks, Elizabeth heard Kitty shuffling her feet, and she fancied she heard the way Georgiana's hand tapped against her hip. Georgiana was now not looking at any of them, and Elizabeth felt a sharp anger at her aunt for not welcoming her new friend.

The etiquette for a visit at such an odd hour was unclear, but in most cases Mrs. Gardiner would smile and ask her guests to sit for tea or coffee. "Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth spoke suddenly, "it is a fair distance back to your house; do take some tea and biscuits before you leave."

Everyone sharply looked at her. It was extremely rude to her aunt to make such an offer on her behalf, and Darcy would see it. But neither her aunt nor uncle would rescind such an offer once it was made.

Darcy shook his head, "I apologize, Miss Elizabeth, it is fairly late. Best we leave immediately."

Elizabeth looked at him, and felt a deep anxiety. When would she see him again?

She needed to see him again soon.

Darcy bowed stiffly to Mr. Gardiner and Mrs. Gardiner and said in an equally stiff voice some parting phrase.

In a sudden birdlike gesture, Georgiana seized Elizabeth's hands. "Lizzy, you must promise that you will call on us tomorrow. Do promise it. You said we should be friends."

"Of course I shall call on you." Elizabeth felt her anxiety release. "When would you wish to see me?"

"You will come?" Georgiana grinned brightly. "Might you visit early? Perhaps about ten thirty? I know it is irregular, but I do look forward to talking with you so much, and at those hours there will be no regular callers bothering us."

"I promise I will be there sharp."

The Darcys left. Elizabeth wished she could have grasped his hand and held it for long minutes before he left.

If Jane could, she could too.

"Did you find Jane?" Mr. Gardiner's voice was sarcastic and stressed. "Was your ridiculous idea that he abducted her false?"

Elizabeth nodded, and collapsed into the nearest seat.

"Well what happened — did you find her? I imagine you asked Mr. Darcy for help finding his friend? You should never have gone off on your own. _Never_. It is unladylike, and simply worsens the scandal. You should have had better sense. I trust your morals, but — what a family. What a family."

"Edward, you do not need to speak to her so — you can see Lizzy is quite unhappy."

"Lizzy," Kitty now spoke for the first time. "Mr. Darcy is so handsome. I think he liked you, did you see Jane? Is she now living as a rich woman?"

"Kitty!"

"Aunt, it is quite impossible to pretend we are respectable and boring. And since Uncle Phillips said he would accept none of us but Mama, there is no point to pretending."

"What?" Elizabeth exclaimed, "Mr. Phillips has thrown us out?"

Mr. Gardiner said angrily, "You and Jane threw yourselves out. And I'm half tempted to follow his example. If you shall speak so slightingly of immorality—"

Kitty laughed. "La! I have had letters from Lydia — _she_ would be happy for me to visit. She may even be able to find me a husband. You have quite failed to do that — though it was Mama's dearest wish when she sent me off."

Elizabeth began to laugh. It was a dark sour sound. Mary was the only decent girl among them, and she achieved that by being less pretty and spending all her days listening to Mr. Collins. Lydia had married a blacksmith, Kitty now wished to marry one herself, Jane had become a rich man's mistress, and Elizabeth — she would join Jane.

She wanted to be better than Jane. She would beg Darcy to give her no money, no jewels, no clothes, nothing but a simple place to live, and perhaps some tiny annuity that would keep her fed when he tired of her. Then she would not be a whore, just a slut.

Elizabeth's laughs turned into tears. The world seemed so different than it had this morning. She frightened herself.

Kitty seized Elizabeth's hand and embraced her. "Oh, Lizzy. If it will make you miserable for me to seek a similar husband, I shall try to find someone respectable."

Elizabeth giggled through her tears and shook her head.

Mrs. Gardiner had tea brought out and pushed a hot cup into Elizabeth's hands. "Calm down, dear. Calm down. You are distressed, but while there is life, things are never so bad."

Elizabeth drank. She swirled the tea around her tongue before swallowing. Tears rolled down her cheeks again, and this time Elizabeth was not sure why.

She continued to drink while her aunt rubbed at her shoulders and hands, and Mr. Gardiner said several times he knew Elizabeth was a good girl, and he meant nothing by what he had said. She and Kitty would always have a home here.

At last Elizabeth ceased to cry; the presence of her family comforted her less than when Darcy had held her. She was not a good girl and did not wish to be.

Holding her arm about Elizabeth's shoulders, Mrs. Gardiner said, "Do tell us what happened. Where is Jane?"

So Elizabeth told them where she found Jane, and what Jane had said.

Kitty exclaimed, "She shall give me a dowry! How wonderful. Even if it is not much it shall let me find a better husband."

"Ha!" Mr. Gardiner's manner was sardonic and angry. "I doubt that Mr. Bingley shall give her such money, and if he does, she shall then spend it upon herself. Quite like he made whatever promise to her she asked for, but he will not carry it out."

Darcy would fill any promise he made. But Elizabeth could accept no money from him, not even for her sisters. That would make her a whore like Jane. She had said such hateful things to her sister. She must prove to be better than her in some respect.

"La, even if he meant to never give any money, Jane is so pretty and sweet. She'll go pretty, pretty please." Kitty pouted her mouth out as though kissing. "And then Bingley will do whatever she asks, just to make her happy. And Jane is too good to forget us."

"Your sister is not good. I begin to fear I must lock you up till you come of age. Should Mr. Bingley attempt to give you money, you shall not accept it. Your sister sold herself, and it would be immoral to accept any gains from that. It would be as if we sold her into slavery ourselves."

"Mama will take anything given for me."

"And then _she_ would spend it. Kitty, one more word from you, and I shall set you to cleaning the pots in the kitchen."

Taking her uncle's threat seriously, Kitty frowned and fell silent.

Elizabeth had thought the example of her aunt and uncle's behavior had a greater impact on Kitty than this. However, the shock of tonight's events had brought out her truer opinions.

They were quiet for a while. Mr. Gardiner slammed his fist against the dark blue velvet armrest of his chair. "If only we had made Jane marry Mr. Thomas."

"But he was ugly, and Jane did not like him at all." Despite the situation Elizabeth repeated what she always said about Mr. Thomas. "Jane could never have been happy with such a man. She deserves better."

"She deserves _nothing_. She would have been married instead of…" Mr. Gardiner looked at Kitty. Then he shrugged. "Any delicacy either of you had has long been spoiled. She has become a whore. If she had married Mr. Thomas, her greed would have kept her lascivious nature from making her cuckold Mr. Thomas. Probably. My friend was wise to back away."

It was odd. Elizabeth now wanted to defend Jane. She went to Bingley because she was desperate and discouraged. She didn't deserve to be called a whore. She didn't deserve to be unhappy.

It was all her fault too. There was so many signs Jane had been unhappy and contemplating a desperate move. Elizabeth should have been more understanding. She had not been a good sister. She hadn't seen how Jane was hurt, and how she felt. Jane always embraced Elizabeth and held her when she cried.

Jane claimed she was happy with Bingley — but was she really? Would it last? Surely sin could not be rewarded. Elizabeth wondered whether she would be happy if…when she became Darcy's mistress? Or would it end in…untimely death or enduring unhappiness?

The conversation was dead again. Once again Mr. Gardiner interrupted the silence. "Perhaps the case is not hopeless. Lizzy, you know Mr. Bingley far better than either of us, how would he respond if I threatened to duel him if he did not marry Jane?"

"No — you can't. Jane is the one who — it was her choice. Her choice. You cannot seek to punish Mr. Bingley."

"What has that to do with the matter? This is an issue of the family honor. If I can restore it, I must." Mr. Gardiner shook his head with a frown. "He is a young and vigorous man. He would accept the challenge, and I would apologize and look the coward. I shall not risk my life and my children's welfare for a girl who chose to prostitute herself. Besides, he may see me as too far beneath him to take a challenge seriously."

Mrs. Gardiner spoke, "She made her choice. At least the scandal shall be long past when my own children reach marriageable age. Lizzy, Kitty, this shall hurt you both."

Elizabeth said, "No, Jane did not worsen our prospects. The sister of a rich man's mistress and a blacksmith has slightly better _cachet_ than a woman who is just the sister of a blacksmith. Jane would not have gone off if she was seriously hurting us."

"Elizabeth Bennet." Mr. Gardiner stood and towered over her. "I shall hear _no_ kind word for Jane from you again. Not if you wish to stay in my house. You will not call on Miss Darcy tomorrow. You absolutely cannot — you know that."

"I shall. I am absolutely determined."

Elizabeth rose, and stared at the taller person of her uncle defiantly.

Mr. Gardiner said, "I shall not permit it. He has already asked you to become his mistress, and he is a friend of Mr. Bingley's. The entire acquaintance must be dropped."

"I promised to be Georgiana's friend."

Mr. Gardiner tugged at his sideburns. "Lizzy, be reasonable. Mr. Darcy likely hopes to seduce you now that you have Jane's example to follow. I will not have it."

"He could hardly plan to make me his mistress if he encourages a friendship with his sister. _You_ should be reasonable."

"Lizzy, if you insist on calling on Mr. Darcy, I shall be not let you remain in my house."

"Then throw me out." Elizabeth began crying, yet again. "I was a terrible sister, and I am horrid person, and I shall find Jane and beg her to let me stay. But no matter what, I will call on _Georgiana_ tomorrow morning."

Mrs. Gardiner laid her hand on her husband's arm and said, "All right, Lizzy, I shall chaperone you. At no time will you be out of my presence. And we will not encourage any intimacy with them. It shall be a brief call, and not to be repeated."

Elizabeth knew that Mrs. Gardiner only permitted this because she was concerned with Elizabeth's state of mind.

The next morning Mrs. Gardiner begged Elizabeth to change her mind and send a letter with her apologies to Miss Darcy. "It does no good to expose yourself to him. Even if he does not plan to make such an offer again, you shall only torture yourself."

"I do not care for him more than I ought."

"He is to be married. I do not know what you expect to happen. He never was concerned for you."

Elizabeth was fully prepared to walk across the three miles' distance to Grosvenor square. The maid, Ruth, had spent a half hour helping her get her curls just right this morning, exclaiming the entire time about how very handsome the gentleman had been. The sharp breeze would make her look quite disheveled by the time such a walk was over.

Some instinct kept Elizabeth from making such a break with her aunt and uncle before it was necessary.

Elizabeth did not defend Mr. Darcy. She repeated that she had promised to call upon Georgiana, and she would call upon Georgiana.

In the carriage on the way, Mrs. Gardiner said, "We shall only stay for the length of a polite call. A quarter of an hour, a half at most. We shall not suggest that a return visit is desired. Do you understand, Elizabeth?"

"Yes. I understand."

Mrs. Gardiner stared hard at her.

"I will do as you wish," Elizabeth lied.

The house looked even bigger this morning. The square was extremely fashionable, and the clothes of the pedestrians were extravagant and rich. Elizabeth got out, and admired the marble columns of the façade and the fine even brickwork. In the large garden in the middle of the square there were oak trees, and elm trees, and many other varieties, some Elizabeth did not recognize. Hopefully she would have a chance to walk through the garden once or twice before matters had progressed to the point where a discreet distance must be kept from Darcy's primary residence.

Seeing his house in the bright clear morning sun helped her to focus on how distant they were from each other. Since marriage between two such people was clearly impossible, it must be permitted for them to form other arrangements if they fell in love.

Upon entering the drawing room, Georgiana and Elizabeth by some mutual instinct immediately embraced. Georgiana exclaimed, "I shall expect you to stay here for a quite long call. I have so much I wish to learn about you."

"And I wish to visit with you for just as long; we have no plans; we intended to stay for at least an hour or two."

Elizabeth did not dare look at Mrs. Gardiner to see how she took it. Elizabeth was not quite sure what she would do if her aunt decided to drag her away. She would probably stay.

Darcy was in the room, and his dark hair fell over the clean white skin of his forehead. His white neck cloth was folded in perfect folds. Soon she would be able pull her fingers through his hair and wreck the work of his valet.

He greeted Mrs. Gardiner first, with his brightest smile and an exclaimed, "You look very well, ma'am. I am so eager for us to become friends."

Mrs. Gardiner replied in a frigid voice, "Likewise."

Darcy took Elizabeth's hand, and half smiled at her, and then dropped her hand. He seemed not to know what he wished to say. His intense blue eyes lingered on her face. They showed his feelings.

When they went to sit down, there was a moment of confusion as both Elizabeth and Georgiana wished to have Elizabeth seated next to Darcy, while Mrs. Gardiner succeeded in placing herself between them.

The drawing room was huge. She had not realized that the ceiling went up more than twenty feet the previous day. There were large paintings along the walls, and a collection of live plants, kept green by some method despite the season, on the edges of the rooms. Sweet smelling flowers were in the middle of the small tables, and a huge grand piano sat gleaming in one corner.

Elizabeth smiled at Georgiana who was on her other side, "What shall we talk about?"

Mrs. Gardiner managed to make the conversation which followed painful and awkward. Every time Darcy said something to amuse Elizabeth, she glared at him and harrumphed. Darcy tried to charm Mrs. Gardiner, and when that completely failed, he tried to impress her with his good sense.

However, Mrs. Gardiner absolutely refused to support the conversation, but Elizabeth realized there was something frightened in the tense way her aunt studied how she and Darcy interacted. Slowly Darcy became more silent and a little withdrawn.

Georgiana talked freely at first, though she completely directed her conversation to Elizabeth or her brother, but gradually she also became silent. Elizabeth found herself talking for most of the time in a nervous chatter. She told stories about books she had read and things she had done and despite the tension made Georgiana giggle at times.

At some point though a silence fell. Georgiana stared hesitantly at her hands, while Darcy frowned at Mrs. Gardiner and rubbed his forehead. Elizabeth could see that her aunt was gathering herself to suggest they leave.

In a rush Elizabeth looked at the piano and exclaimed, "What a fabulous instrument! I have never seen its like."

Roused to a renewed enthusiasm, Georgiana exclaimed, "Oh, do you play, Lizzy? It would be ever so much fun to do a duet."

"I would love that, but I play dreadfully. I am the worst of piano players." Defying her aunt once more, Elizabeth winsomely smiled at Darcy, and said, " _You_ told me so direct when I was fishing for a compliment one evening. Was that not unbelievably ungallant of him?"

Mrs. Gardiner said, "I do not know that we have time for you to play a duet."

Elizabeth replied in a fey manner, "Nonsense. Remember we have no plans for the rest of the day."

Georgiana said, "That does sound _unbelievably_ ungallant of my brother. Methinks there might be more to the story."

Darcy looked interested. "Which evening was this? I recall admiring you excessively when you played."

"Yes, you _admired_ me while I played."

Mrs. Gardiner gave a harrumph. Elizabeth screwed up her face in annoyance, then she stood and exclaimed, "The only way for me to prove how bad I am _is_ for us to play a duet!"

Darcy would watch her, and she and Georgiana would actually be able to talk.

As Elizabeth settled on the bench next to Georgiana, she said, "Now you must promise to not become annoyed and dreadfully impatient at how poorly I play. Though of course you _shall_ become annoyed and impatient."

Georgiana found a simple piece of sheet music with an easy duet, and then ran her fingers up and down the keys in a flourish to warm up. "Oh _everyone_ plays worse than I. So I am quite used to _that_."

"False modesty is not one of _your_ defects."

"One should always face the world as it is. Even if that makes you sound boastful. You would not suggest I be dishonest."

Elizabeth laughed. She studied the music, which was a familiar piece and began to play her part. Her fingers moved a little uncomfortably, but it was easy enough that she managed. "I have received some really delightful compliments through insulting myself. You should try it. Though they are the most delightful when you really do not deserve the compliment."

Darcy was watching her, and Elizabeth missed a few notes as she sat straighter to preen. She did not dare grin at him, as Mrs. Gardiner was watching.

Georgiana said, as she effortlessly ran her fingers up and down the ivory keys, "You lied when you claimed you could not play. You play delightfully."

Elizabeth glanced sideways at the mischievously grinning girl. The loss of concentration made her miss a few more notes.

"Your brother insulted my playing in a far handsomer manner."

"I _said_ you played delightfully."

Elizabeth suppressed her giggles. She could see that Darcy was pleased to watch her laugh with his sister.

"Did he say some nonsense about how he loved to watch you play so much that it didn't matter how much you fudged? I shall insist you practice somewhat more. Even if you are pretty enough to deserve that praise, it does not take any great time to become barely passable."

"You hope for us to play more duets?"

Georgiana flipped the page to the next, as her other hand kept the melody. "We both love to read, so why not both love to play."

It already was unlikely that Mrs. Gardiner or Darcy could hear what they were saying, seated on the sofas, but Georgiana lowered her voice and whispered to Elizabeth. "My governess, she has always been my dearest friend, and she has been my uncle's mistress since a year or two after she came to us. I knew all along."

So that was what was meant by an unconventional education. Or at least part of it. Growing more used to playing again, Elizabeth's fingers easily kept the slow pace.

Georgiana added, "So you see, I can happily keep company with anyone, even if they are quite unrespectable."

"You want me to become even _less_ respectable?" Elizabeth laughingly said, "Bingley was right, you do say things no one would expect to hear from a well-bred girl."

"That's because _I'm_ not. It is dreadfully boring to pretend I am well-bred. It would be the death of me by ennui if I had to _be_ one."

"You put up such a fine pretense. No one could ever see through it."

Georgiana giggled at Elizabeth's dry tone. "Is that a reference to my praise of your piano playing, for I do apologize for ever saying anything kind about it. It was not nice of me."

Elizabeth actually laughed at that, breaking the pretty tune, which by ill luck had moved into a more difficult point. Elizabeth stopped playing, unsure which key to hit next, and for fifteen seconds Georgiana played both parts without the least strain.

As she waited for the crescendo to end and the melody to return to an easier point, Elizabeth said, "We really will get along well. Not just because you are Darcy's sister."

Georgiana blushed at that and looked at Elizabeth with a shy smile that reminded Elizabeth that the girl was only sixteen.

While continuing to play perfectly, Georgiana whispered quickly, "He does love you, even if he is too stupid to say it. He has been in a terrible mood the entire time. Fitzwilliam would take good care of you, and even though you wouldn't be married you might stay together your entire lives. Uncle Charlie will never look for a new mistress. I do so want to see him happy, and you would be happy too."

She had come here with the intention of finding a chance to tell Darcy she would be his mistress. But Elizabeth's stomach crawled with sudden anxiety.

When Elizabeth did not reply, Georgiana whispered worriedly, "Please do not be offended. And if you wish to say something to Fitzwilliam, I would take any message. I don't see why you praised your aunt so high. She is quite terrifying. You cannot speak to him directly with her present, though you do keep looking at him."

Elizabeth took a deep shaky breath. She whispered, "I am not despaired of gaining a chance to speak with him direct myself."

This time _Georgiana_ made a completely uncharacteristic mistake, and she stopped playing for a moment. She stared at Elizabeth with a bright grin. Elizabeth elbowed her, and Georgiana realized Mrs. Gardiner was scowling at them and began to play again.

Georgiana whispered to Elizabeth in her girlish voice, "Oh, you really mean it? You shall become Fitzwilliam's mistress? You _have_ changed your mind?"

Elizabeth smiled and gave a tiny nod, which she hoped her aunt would not notice. Saying it to Georgiana was a promise she would go through with it. Her stomach settled and she felt light through her limbs.

He sat smiling at her.

Georgiana enthused, "We will be such good friends. Such good friends. I already like you more than I did Isabella, though we _are_ friends."

Elizabeth nodded, not particularly pleased by the reminder that Darcy had previous mistresses. It was half a reminder that he was to be married, which she absolutely did not wish to think about. She would feel dirty and wrong if she did. It could not change her determination to offer herself to Darcy in the slightest.

With a blush, Georgiana whispered, "Perhaps I should not have mentioned her, but you would not think that my brother has never…"

"I _have_ met Mr. Wickham." Elizabeth grinned. Now that Georgiana knew her plans, the happiness over having committed herself bubbled out crushing any annoyance. "He was quite eager to explain why he despised your brother so much."

"Odious man. Bella wrote me that in the past month he has taken to writing her for money. But she just burns all the letters. He won't bother her in person though, since Uncle Charlie owns enough of his debts to throw him into debtor's prison if he ever annoys us."

"Oh." Elizabeth said smilingly, "That is my fault. Your brother mentioned the settlement he made upon Miss Wickham to me, and then I accused Wickham of not telling me the entire story."

Georgiana giggled. "No harm is done. That explanation will terribly amuse Bella."

The door to the drawing room was opened suddenly, and a blonde young woman wearing a splendid blue riding habit rushed in.

Elizabeth immediately knew who she must be. She was beautiful, with a cloud of golden hair hanging around her head, a smart hat, clear skin, a straight back, and such a fine dress.

She immediately berated Darcy, her hands nervously wringing together. "Oh, I waited in Hyde Park for near an hour. You said we were to meet around eleven. I was so anxious when you did not appear. I broke my engagement with Miss Tyler, do you not remember? Because you asked me to. And I thought something dreadful must have happened for you to not appear. But you have been here this entire time. That is not like you. Not like you at all."

An icy blizzard had quenched the bubbly happiness Elizabeth had felt moments before. Lady Margaret's eyes were drawn together as though she were fighting tears. She pulled her arms tight against her sides and looked pleadingly at Darcy.

He stood up; his face was pale. If he embraced her and kissed her hand, Elizabeth would die inside. "I…I apologize, Lady Margaret. Our…engagement…it completely slipped my mind…"

"Oh! I begin to imagine you do not wish to spend time with me. But I know _that_ cannot be true."

Darcy's eyes glanced away from his fiancée towards Elizabeth. Their eyes met. His face was pale and firm. It seemed an oddly long moment, and Elizabeth did not know what his eyes were saying. He turned back to his fiancée and said in his strong voice, "You must meet my guests, and then I need to speak with you in private."

Elizabeth felt sick at the thought of them together alone. Even if they were only talking. She could not stand to greet the shining young lady. He had said he had made a mistake when he asked to marry Lady Margaret. But he still _belonged_ to her.

Mrs. Gardiner did stand, and both women curtsied at Darcy's introduction. Lady Margaret's curtsy was so graceful and pretty. She had a fuller bosom, and her clothes were exceptionally fine. Did Darcy really think he had made a mistake?

Lady Margaret said in her pleasant tones, "Mrs. Gardiner? I have heard nothing of you."

She even had a lovely voice.

"Her niece is a neighbor of Mr. Bingley's. His estate in Hertfordshire." Darcy looked towards Elizabeth, who forced herself to stand, though she continued to stare at Lady Margaret as she tottered forward.

"Oh." Lady Margaret said with pique, "I see that meeting a neighbor of your friend in the morning was a matter of extreme urgency."

Georgiana exclaimed, "Lizzy is such a dear friend of mine, I begged and begged Fitzwilliam to stay and hear us play."

"Your _friend_?" Lady Margaret swallowed and said to Elizabeth, "It is quite surprising she took to you so quickly. Georgiana in general never performs with anyone else."

"Lizzy is wonderful. We are going to be like sisters."

A flash of pain came and then left Lady Margaret's face.

Darcy ceaselessly glanced between them. His lips were pressed tightly together, and his entire manner showed awkwardness and unhappiness.

"Do say. What are your connections? Is your estate well located?"

Elizabeth flushed with shame.

Mrs. Gardiner replied, "Miss Elizabeth's father died many years ago, and the estate was entailed to a distant cousin. I fear our position is quite modest compared to yours."

"Oh. No matter." She seized Mr. Darcy's arm and smiled. " _My_ Mr. Darcy is kind to everyone, no matter what their station."

Darcy went completely stiff at her touch. His blue eyes stared at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth looked at Lady Margaret. "He is always so kind. You live a charmed life. I understand you are the daughter of an earl."

Lady Margaret nodded.

"And you have forty thousand as a dowry. Such a great sum. No one would hesitate to marry _you_ or think _you_ are not worth speaking to, or cut _you_ because of your relations. I imagine all of _your_ family is quite respectable. Are they not?"

The girl's blue eyes were widening as Elizabeth's tone rose and sharpened. She brought her hand encased in a perfect kid glove in front of her delicate lips.

Elizabeth almost shrieked. " _Your_ sister never married a blacksmith! _Your_ mother never called _you_ worthless because _you_ refused to be a rich man's mistress. _You_ are so happy in everything."

Elizabeth could not look towards Darcy and ran from the room.


	21. Chapter 21

Elizabeth had left the door open. Darcy stared between the gaping view of the hallway and Lady Margaret. His fiancée was pressing the back of her knuckles against her mouth.

Darcy ran after Elizabeth.

She was still in the entry hall, sobbing against one of the marble pilasters. But the instant she saw him she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.

"I'll become your mistress. I will. I was a fool to refuse you in November. Such a fool. I love you so, I'll do anything. I do not care anymore."

"Lizzy—"

Mrs. Gardiner seized her niece by the wrist and jerked her away, saying, "She is only distraught due to her sister's actions. I beg you, by all that is sacred, by whatever affection you have felt for my niece, please do not abuse her present weakness."

Elizabeth tried to pull away from her aunt, but then her eye fixed on something behind Darcy, and she gave up struggling.

Darcy exclaimed, "Wait!"

Mrs. Gardiner ignored him and her fast strides dragged them both out Darcy's door. In an instant they were gone, the heavy oak door of his entrance swung shut behind the last image of Elizabeth's fluttering skirts.

Darcy looked back towards the drawing room. Lady Margaret stood framed by the hallway. Her mouth formed a perfect _O_. Georgiana stood behind her with a crooked smile.

Darcy took a deep breath. He had decided to end the engagement to Lady Margaret when he saw them in the same room together. It made him feel disgusting and dishonorable and less of a gentleman. But the alternative of letting Elizabeth go or betraying Lady Margaret was far worse. He just hoped Radnor didn't demand the opportunity to shoot him through.

Looking at the white face of the woman he had asked to marry, Darcy felt sick as he prepared to break her heart. "My Lady, I have used you abominably, but it is absolutely impossible for me to marry you."

Georgiana grinned, "Shall you marry Lizzy?"

"Since November." Lady Margaret's gaze bounced between the door, the chandelier, one of the paintings on the wall and Darcy. "You…you made an indecent request to her in November."

"I did."

"All this time… When you asked me to marry you…were you in love with her?"

"It was terribly wrong of me and—"

Lady Margaret collapsed onto one of the brown leather chairs along the wall with a long shuddering sigh. "I am so relieved. My explanations for why you have treated me so coldly were so much worse, and far more fantastical. I thought there was something terribly amiss that I had unknowingly done. But now I understand."

Darcy blinked. This was not how he had expected her to react.

He said, "I cannot ask for forgiveness as I do not deserve any and—"

"Yes, yes. You behaved abominably. You really did." Lady Margaret giggled in relief. "I fancied myself in love with you, and you could not stand to be touched. I expected to at least be kissed. Lord! If you had _no_ care for me, _why_ did you ask me to marry you?"

Darcy rubbed at his face and forehead. "I was behaving selfishly and—"

"No, none of that. I _know_ men mostly do not keep their vows. But I thought _you_ were better than that."

"I would have kept them if I married you. It is why I cannot."

"That is _not_ a sweet sentiment."

Georgiana chirpily said, "I think it is."

Lady Margaret exclaimed, " _Why_? Tell me honest, I deserve to know."

Darcy sat down on a chair on the opposite side of the hall, facing Lady Margaret. Georgiana grinned widely and hopped onto her own chair. "Georgie, _go_. Write a note to summon Radnor and Matlock. I need to have this out with Radnor."

"But—"

"Go!"

Georgiana stood and said in an offended tone, "Oh, if you insist."

Darcy rubbed at his forehead. Now that Lady Margaret wasn't heartbroken, his deepest worry was that Radnor would kill him as he sent shot after shot at Darcy during a duel. Radnor would be the challenger, so Darcy could demand they do it from a long distance, and Lord Radnor was only a decent shot.

Lady Margaret saw Darcy's nervousness, "I doubt Papa will call you out. After all you've taken _no_ liberties with me."

Darcy grunted.

"Why did you ask me to marry you?"

"I had decided not to offer for you, then I realized I was in love with Miss Elizabeth and I foolishly panicked. I decided I needed to do something to ensure I could never marry her. Richard had got me very drunk, and I was not thinking clearly. He was absolutely insistent that I marry you, and I offered the next morning before I had any opportunity to think soberly about it."

"You looked quite pale that morning. I thought it was nerves. I found the idea that you were nervous so fetching. But you weren't at all, were you." Lady Margaret frowned at picked at the sleeve of her dress. "She appeared genteel. Distraught, and she stared at me so, but genteel."

" _She_ is unexceptional, but her family circumstances are shockingly scandalous."

"Yes, she said as much." Suddenly Lady Margaret laughed shakily. "You did very wrong. And even knowing everything was wrong, I would have married you. It was obviously foolish of me. But you…"

"I do not deserve your forgiveness."

"I dare say you do not."

Georgiana walked back in. "Runners have been sent off. I want to know too. Why did you decide to offer for Grettie?"

"Do not call me that. You are not my friend, and never have been. I've seen how you've smiled the entire time. Darcy at least has the good nature to be terribly ashamed of himself."

"It is as much your fault—"

Darcy interrupted her, " _Georgiana Darcy_. One word, _one_ word against Margaret, and you shall be sent to the country for the rest of the season."

"But then I wouldn't be here when you marry Lizzy."

"Exactly."

"You are no fun."

Georgiana sat down with a pout.

Lady Margaret said, "I liked you very much. Everyone said it would be such a great match, and you are so tall and handsome, and you were so charming until that week when everyone was telling me that we should make a match of it. _Then_ you frowned while pretending to flirt. I knew even when I accepted you something was wrong. Mama shall be terribly angry."

"Yes. Rightfully so."

Some minutes later Radnor and Matlock, who had been at a club together, arrived. Radnor looked between his daughter and Darcy. Despite his jovial features and plump stomach, Radnor glared menacingly at Darcy. "What is this about you jilting my daughter?"

Radnor then glanced at the calm face of his daughter and, seeing her not in the least devastated, exclaimed, "Georgie, is this some prank of yours?"

Darcy said solemnly to Radnor. "I know it is deeply ungentlemanly, but I must end my engagement to your daughter."

Radnor stared back at him. Darcy felt spurts of nerves as he held the man's gaze.

"What is this about? What is wrong with my girl? You are not a man to act so lightly. I'll hear you out before I demand satisfaction."

"There is nothing amiss with Lady Margaret. She is an exemplary woman. I am entirely at fault. I am in love with a different woman, and it is impossible for me to marry anyone but her."

Radnor screwed his face into a scowl. "In love you say. Of course you are."

"I shall pay any sum you ask as compensation for the breach of promise, and…if you demand it, I will meet you."

Matlock exclaimed, "There shall be no talk of dueling. Do not be absurd."

"Let's not be so hasty," Radnor snarled at Darcy. "What liberties have you taken with my Greta?"

"Do not be tiresome, Papa." Lady Margaret laid her hand on her father's arm and pushed him to sit down. "He has not even kissed me. Never even tried. I knew something was dreadfully wrong. But the situation is like _Pamela_."

Georgiana exclaimed, "It is not!"

"It very much is. You see Darcy asked her to be his mistress last year, and she refused, and now he is desperately in love and plans to marry her."

"Good God!" Matlock looked at his nephew aghast. "You _did_ fall in love with a tavern wench."

Lady Margaret giggled. "It is not _that_ bad. She is an almost presentable little thing. Though under the circumstances I could hardly tell much of her. I do wish Darcy had not involved me in the whole matter, but he is dreadfully ashamed, and I am just so relieved that I shall not need to marry him any longer."

Darcy watched Radnor's face. His scowl relaxed, and he said, "Never even kissed her, eh. What a deuced bit of nonsense. If you were sure you had made a mistake, you should have told us sooner. Remember, I knew your father. It is no surprise you will throw everything over for a woman. I've always half suspected that that hunting accident so soon after Lady Anne died was…" Radnor looked at the suddenly closed off expressions on Matlock and Darcy's faces. "Oh. So that is how it was."

Matlock bashed his fist against the armrest of his chair several times. "Yes. That is how it was. So dash it, Darcy, how bad is she."

"Miss Elizabeth's father was a respectable man but the estate was entailed to a distant cousin. She is completely penniless and lives off the charity of her uncles, one of whom is a Cit, whose house shows every sign of respectability and success. Her other uncle is a minor country lawyer who is the most odious man I have ever lost a handful of pounds to."

Matlock grimaced. "A Cit, eh? That is not all. You'd not have made all this fuss if there wasn't more."

"Her youngest sister married a local blacksmith after being found with child. Her oldest sister ran away to be the mistress of Mr. Bingley, two days ago. That, I think, is the worst of it. Though I dislike her mother as much as her uncle."

Matlock and Radnor exchanged a long look. Radnor said, "Just like his father."

Matlock nodded.

Darcy said, "Radnor, I know I treated your family abominably and with a complete absence of honor. Is there anything I might do to lessen my guilt?"

"Just like your father." Radnor scratched at his head. "Deuced if I know. You are going to be a complete joke, and I would just look greedy if I took your money."

Darcy opened his mouth again.

" _Don't_ keep apologizing. We all know you've made a god awful display of yourself and that you should have behaved better."

Darcy looked at Lord Matlock. "I know I have disappointed you greatly. You always told me to not let myself get carried away with a woman and—"

"Disappointed me?" Matlock rubbed at his nose. "I am not disappointed."

"But—"

"You should have known your mind before you attached Margaret, but you never throw away fortunes at gaming tables or get into any serious scrapes, you've earned a pass for _one_ such matter."

Radnor grunted again and exclaimed, "It will be a deuced mess. They'll talk more about you, but they will talk about Grettie a great deal too."

"Papa, that does not signify. I am not going to let you and Mama arrange my next match. I think Georgie is right when she says I should think seriously myself about such matters." She then turned to Georgiana, "Though I insist that is likely the _only_ matter you are right on."

Georgiana shrugged, clearly unbothered by Lady Margaret's dislike.

Radnor asked Matlock, "Can Susan break the news to my wife? It was _their_ scheme, but she will blame me for everything."

Matlock magnanimously tilted his head. "Certainly. We will return to Matlock House to inform her and then skip out to the club until we've heard everyone has calmed. Probably in a week. Susan will be in high dudgeon herself. Damned good thing that they keep all women off the premises."

Lady Margaret looked a little pale at the prospect of facing her mother and aunt, but she stood up when her father ordered her to follow him out.

Matlock said, "I'll follow you in a bit. If _you_ want to tell your sister instead of me, I won't be bothered."

Radnor pointed at Darcy, " _Your_ nephew, not mine."

"Quite right." Matlock grabbed Darcy's arm. "I _will_ have a word in private with you before you call on your lady-love."

His uncle forcefully led Darcy deeper into the house. The look on Matlock's face was grim.

Despite their differences, in many ways Matlock was Darcy's hero.

When they got to the corridor which led behind the house where the carriage yard and stables were, Matlock opened the door and called to Darcy's groom and coachmen, who were seated around a small round table playing cards, "Have the carriage prepared for Darcy."

He closed the door again and stared hard at Darcy. "I am not disappointed, and I do not care if you marry a Cit or a bargirl, or whatever this Elizabeth is. It isn't ideal, but nothing is. But by God, you will _swear_ to never do what your father did."

Darcy nodded.

"Listen, she might die young. By Jove, I hope that never happens. I hope she lives past seventy and is healthy the entire time. But, I will have you _swear_ that if she dies, you will cling to your friends and live on."

Darcy was deeply touched by his uncle's concern and the realization that Matlock would not oppose the marriage. With a surge of emotion, he embraced his uncle. "I would never do what you fear. You taught me to live each moment to the fullest. With Elizabeth I will do that, but if misfortune strikes…there would still be beauty in each moment. I could never betray you and _her_ in that way."

"I have taught you so well, have I?" His uncle's voice was gruff, and his eyes were suddenly shiny.

Darcy felt tears sitting in the back of his eyes. "You have."

Matlock squeezed his forearms. "I'll still have you swear it. Aloud."

"I swear by my love for Elizabeth, and my love for you, I swear that no matter what happens in the future I will cling to my friends and my family and live on for the memory of those whom I have loved."

"Well then." Matlock cleared his throat. "Well then, I think you had best be off. I look forward to meeting your girl."

During the drive to Gracechurch Street, Darcy decided that unexpectedly the day was going fabulously. All that remained was to convince Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner to let him see Elizabeth.

It was an hour past noon when Darcy arrived in front of the Gardiners' house. The shops and warehouses in Cheapside were a buzzing hive of activity, and Mr. Gardiner would probably still be at his business. But while there was something formidable about Elizabeth's uncle, facing her aunt was just as frightening a prospect.

Darcy stepped out of his carriage and looked around. A line of long trees with bare branches stood shading the road and the houses. The wind howled through the streets, making Darcy shiver a little despite the warmth of his heavy greatcoat. The sun was occluded by the thick London smog.

What if they had sent Elizabeth back to Hertfordshire, or executed some other scheme to keep her away from him? Darcy was not worried for more than a delay. Once they were convinced his intentions were truly honorable, Elizabeth would be allowed to meet him. He firmly banged the knocker against its brass plate.

The maid who opened the door was same girl who had opened the door when he came to the house with Elizabeth last night. She blushed and curtsied. "Forgive me, sir, but they ordered that neither you nor your sister are to be admitted."

"Please, I must speak with Miss Elizabeth. She is here? She _is_ well?"

The maid looked back into the house and then said in a quiet voice, "Miss Lizzy cried a great deal, and the mistress was terribly angry at her. Miss Lizzy asked me to bring her any message from you. But I cannot. It would be my position if the mistress found out, and Miss Lizzy is a good girl, even if things are so in a tangle. She has always been a real friend to me."

Darcy smiled warmly at the servant, and the girl blushed and looked down. "Then is the master in? I must talk to him first."

"Oh! You mean…"

"I do. I want to marry Elizabeth."

The maid informed Darcy that Mr. Gardiner was in fact home, in the drawing room talking to his wife and Elizabeth. She then eagerly led him to the study so that he could meet with Mr. Gardiner.

The study was the first room off the hall to the right, very convenient if someone called on a matter of business and with an excellent view of the street.

Darcy sat down and looked about at the room. It was solidly, though not expensively, furnished. There were paintings about the walls, though Darcy could tell they had not been drawn by a master. The walls had yellow paper coverings and rows of bookcases dominated one wall. The fireplace was a simple white marble piece, with no carvings. There were a variety of foreign curiosities on the mantelpiece.

Minutes passed.

Then several more minutes.

Mr. Gardiner had long since received the message, and he'd had more than ample time to come to the study. He was either occupied by some matter of grave importance, or far more likely he'd decided to force Darcy to wait as a sign of his displeasure.

Rather than a collection of armchairs, the room had a half dozen simple wooden chairs with solidly colored velvet cushions. Some of them were blue and others were black. There were two windows. Each had two white painted pieces of wood going horizontally through them, and three going vertically. That made twelve little panes of glass for each window, and twenty-four in total.

Darcy checked his watch. The second half hour of his wait would commence in just another two minutes.

Darcy thought about counting how many books were on the shelf.

Mr. Gardiner must be planning to refuse consent to marry his niece. Or at least he was considering it. From their behavior, the couple likely knew about his first offer to Elizabeth.

He could go to Mrs. Bennet for permission. Darcy wrinkled his nose in disgust. Unless he had misread the woman's character entirely, it would be trivial to get her approval.

To occupy himself Darcy walked about the room. Mr. Gardiner's desk had a miniature portrait. Darcy picked it up. There were two girls and a young man wearing the clothes of several decades past. For a moment Darcy thought Elizabeth's sister Jane was one of the women, but he then realized it was Mrs. Bennet as a girl. The other woman was Mrs. Phillips, and the young man was Mr. Gardiner.

Darcy looked at them, wondering if there were some sign in their eyes of what direction their life would go.

The door at last opened, and Darcy startled at being caught looking at Mr. Gardiner's personal effects. He placed the miniature back down on the desk facing a different direction than it had at first. Darcy crushed the impulse to straighten it.

Mr. Gardiner closed the door and walked to the desk. There was an unpleasant snarl on the man's face. Darcy greeted him, keeping any annoyance at having been kept waiting out his words and tone, and vigorously shook the older man's hand.

Mr. Gardiner did not smile and, without saying a word, sat down behind his desk and gestured for Darcy to sit as well.

Darcy did so.

Mr. Gardiner stared at Darcy.

"Mr. Gardiner, I wish to ask for the hand of your niece, Elizabeth. I assure you my intentions are entirely honorable."

Mr. Gardiner stared at Darcy with the exact same expression. Darcy felt an urge to justify himself, and nearly began to speak, but a habit formed from years of negotiations as the master of Pemberley kept him from saying anything before he had thought.

Elizabeth's uncle was playing the old negotiating game where whoever spoke first lost. The use of silence to see what someone might say as they became uncomfortable. Darcy added, "My engagement to Lady Margaret has been dissolved. I spoke with her father an hour ago, and I am now free to pursue my inclinations."

Mr. Gardiner said nothing.

Darcy decided he had already said everything which needed to be said.

He held Mr. Gardiner's gaze with a neutral face.

This continued for a full minute.

"I assure you, her happiness is my sole goal. You have some cause for an ill opinion of me, but I will act in a manner worthy of Elizabeth's affection and your approval."

Mr. Gardiner steepled his hands and frowned heavily over them.

Darcy sighed.

This was not a negotiation with a tenant, and he was not some criminal who did not want to confess his crime by accident to a justice of the peace. They all cared for Elizabeth, and she cared for them all. It was demeaning to be treated in this manner by the tradesman, but if he were to have the life he hoped for with Elizabeth he must see her as an equal, which meant he must see her connections as equal as well.

"Mr. Gardiner, I love Elizabeth. I will not hurt her. I will always act for her sake. If she should agree to marry me, I will fulfill all of the words of the marriage vows. I will love her, cherish her, and honor her. Conflict between us does her no good. Tell me what you fear."

Mr. Gardiner leaned forward and laid his palms flat on the table. It was a gesture which pointed his elbows to the side and opened up his shoulders so that he looked larger. "I do not like you. I do not trust you. Everything I've learned of your family says that you are the worst sort of aristocrats. You are acting as a spoiled child who has never been denied anything. You have chosen to throw a tantrum to get the one toy which was not immediately handed to you."

The man settled back and steepled his hands together again. Darcy forced his irritation and offended pride away. He _would_ speak to Elizabeth, with or without Mr. Gardiner's approval, but she valued her family greatly, and matters would be easier if he had his approval.

Darcy said with a forced mildness, "I have never been accused of throwing a tantrum to have my way. I still do not understand what you fear. I _am_ offering Elizabeth an honorable position."

Mr. Gardiner stiffened in a way that showed Darcy had said the wrong thing. "You are a fool if you think that just because a promise is honorable that it is then decent."

What offended pride Darcy had withered away. He had wronged Lady Margaret with an honorable offer, and he had no right any longer to be annoyed when a man questioned his good judgement.

Mr. Gardiner said, "If you marry Lizzy, your fancied love will only last six months past the wedding, and then she would be tied forever to a man who cares nothing for her and who only thinks of his own pleasures."

"Were I in your position, I would have your fears. Elizabeth deserves—"

"Miss Elizabeth."

"If you think I only value her person and not her character, you are the one to hold too low an opinion of your niece."

"If you cared for her character, you never would have made such a vile offer to her."

Darcy was not sure what to say.

He loved Elizabeth. He wished to marry her. She would be happy, and he needed in his heart to shout to society that she was his. He wanted to live with her at Pemberley, as his father had lived with his mother, and she would never be completely happy as his mistress. Even if she could be, he loved her too much to not marry her.

But Darcy was still too much of his uncle's nephew to think that asking her to enter his protection was vile.

Mr. Gardiner interrupted Darcy's thinking. "I have no choice; her reputation and the reputation of all her sisters are already in tatters due to your friend Bingley. If she will accept you, I must give agreement. However, I will allow no term of engagement shorter than a full year. And I would expect settlements to be signed immediately, so that without recourse to the courts Elizabeth will receive compensation when you tire of her like you have your first fiancée."

"Tomorrow I will go to my solicitor and settle thirty thousand pounds irrevocably upon her. As to the length of the engagement, I will make no such agreement. I have sufficient understanding of my own character to know my affection for Elizabeth will not change in such a _short_ span of time as a year."

Mr. Gardiner blinked when Darcy named the sum. "Do not be ridiculous. Thirty thousand? If you are serious you only prove what I said about your carelessness. You cannot purchase my assent to advance the marriage. An engagement of a year is my demand, if you wish to see my niece."

"Thirty thousand is my sister's fortune. I do not see settling a sum equal to that on Elizabeth as an excessive gesture of my affection. She deserves all. Unless Elizabeth wishes a long engagement, we will have the banns read Sunday next and marry after the three week's period."

"You already abandoned _one_ woman. I would much rather that when you change your mind this time, it is before you are tied unbreakably by the church."

Darcy grimaced. "My connection with Lady Margaret was a mistake, and I knew it to be one from the very first. Elizabeth is an entirely different matter. I will not respect your wishes in this matter."

"You will not? What shall you do when I refuse permission? Will you elope, or will you tell her you plan to marry her and then make her your mistress on the road to Scotland? You think you have the right to take whatever you wish."

Darcy frowned. He thought Mrs. Gardiner had heard Elizabeth's promise to become his mistress this morning, like Lady Margaret had. However, he now suspected that the excellent woman had _not_ informed her husband.

Darcy looked down and rubbed at his forehead. "We should not be enemies. You do not wish this marriage at all. Why?"

"You would not be faithful to her, and it would make her miserable. She will be derided by your entire society and they will all mock her, and then you will abandon her to pursue fresh women. Your every action today proves you take what you wish with no regard for society or religion."

"I assure you, I would be faithful to her."

"If you were the sort of man to be faithful, you would not be the sort of man to seek mistresses. I came to my marriage, though I was near thirty, not having known a woman."

"Really?" Darcy drew back and asked in a confused tone, "I would say we were raised very different, but — with such a sister as Mrs. Bennet?"

Mr. Gardiner chuckled. Instead of being insulted he shrugged and some of the tension left the room. "Yes. Even with Fanny as my sister. My father took far greater pains to shape my morals and habits than he did with my sisters." He raised his eyebrows. "There is a lesson there."

Darcy leaned forward his chair. He pillowed his chin on a fist. "How old were you, exactly?"

"Six months past my nine and twentieth birthday."

"That would make you more than a year older than I am now."

"I am not a curiosity for you to stare at in amazement."

"No, you are my dear Elizabeth's beloved uncle."

Mr. Gardiner leaned back into his chair and looked at Darcy with an expectant expression.

"Mr. Gardiner, while our educations were entirely different, I assure you my family is neither amoral nor careless. While I am certain a benevolent Providence watches and cares for us, I do not think the present superstitions correspond to the true nature of that Providence. I have never thought congress between a man and woman is sacred. However, I was taught to always consider a woman's happiness as of equal importance with my own. The prohibitions against seduction and loose behavior protect young women from rakes who would abuse their vulnerable situation. So long as the woman is not harmed by the connection, I see no sin in having a woman outside of wedlock."

"That does _not_ comfort me."

"It was not _disrespect_ when I asked Elizabeth to be my mistress. While contrary to your moral code, and to society's proclaimed code, it was not contrary to my own values. However, being unfaithful when I promised fidelity… I abhor deception. I have only once deceived a woman in a matter of importance, and it was by far the worst decision of my life."

Mr. Gardiner leaned forward. Darcy hoped his eyes were now softer. "You mean your engagement?"

"Yes. I…I asked her to marry me so it would be impossible to marry Elizabeth. It was wrong and profoundly selfish, and I have never despised myself so much. Mr. Gardiner, I have never… well…" Darcy blushed. "I found as a youth I would feel guilty if I…was unfaithful to my mistresses."

Mr. Gardiner raised his eyebrows, and Darcy felt his face go hotter.

"Hmm." Mr. Gardiner pulled at his sideburns and settled back into his chair. "You mean to suggest that since you would not play loose with your paid subordinates, you certainly will not misuse my niece when you are married to her and claim to love her."

Darcy grimaced at Mr. Gardiner's manner of describing it. He _was_ in love with Elizabeth, and he had treated his mistresses with far more consideration than that given to _simply_ a paid subordinate. Arguing _that_ point would do no good. "That in essence is what I mean to say."

"Well. Well. I suppose I imagined all forms of immorality would be bundled together. If a man had one, he probably had all. But there is no good _cause_ for that to be the case. I do believe you now. You have some decency in you, even if it has been twisted by your irreligious speculations."

Now it was Darcy's turn to say nothing while the other man thought.

"How can I _know_ your affection for her will not disappear once you have enjoyed her person? It would make an extremely poor marriage for you, since only the strongest affection would be able to stand up against the derision you will face."

"It was never her person that drew me, not primarily. The first time I saw Elizabeth, I was drawn to the expression on her face. I stood near her in the assembly rooms at Meryton pretending to study a portrait of the King while her face went from an expression of piercing disappointment, to contentment, to anger, and then to a confidence. I have been a little in love with her since I saw her shake her fist with resolution and smile defiantly at her worries."

"That is a romantic speech. You should share it with Lizzy."

"Mr. Gardiner, her spirit has always drawn me. So long as…" Darcy could not continue for a moment. "If I can hear her laugh and listen to her conversation and bring smiles to her face, I shall be happy."


	22. Chapter 22

When the door had first rung, her heart had leapt with hope that it might be Mr. Darcy. But when Ruth entered the drawing room to fetch Mr. Gardiner, the visitor turned out to merely be one of her uncle's business partners.

After Mrs. Gardiner had dragged her back into their carriage and home, Elizabeth had ignored the lectures about immorality and impropriety as she waited for some signal from Darcy.

It had been absurd to think it was Darcy. He wouldn't come here directly. She had offered to be his mistress; he would send her a note, telling her where to meet away from any house.

Except, he might do no such thing. She had seen Lady Margaret behind him, and the woman must have heard her begging Darcy. She may have created terrible dissension between them, and…he would not be able to take her as his mistress. The more Elizabeth thought about Darcy, the more certain she became that he would be faithful to his vows once married.

It was his forthrightness and his bluntness. If Lady Margaret made him promise to not take a mistress, and any reasonable woman would, then Darcy would not. He would not lie.

She should have gone with him when she had the chance.

Elizabeth's old habit of imagining everything was as she wished was of no use. She wished to give herself to Darcy, and for him to take her completely. Nothing else seemed important in her spinning brain.

At long last Mr. Gardiner reentered the room with a perplexed expression.

He gestured for Elizabeth to come to him, and in a flash she _knew_ that the story about his partner was simply disguise so that he might speak to Darcy first.

With mixed eagerness and fear, she hopped quickly up to her uncle. He led her out of the drawing room and pointed to the door of his study. "Mr. Darcy wishes to speak to you, and he convinced me to let him." Mr. Gardiner tapped one of the chairs along the wall of the entrance hall. "Do remember, I shall be sitting here."

"Are you certain?" Elizabeth was trembling. She was sure the only way Mr. Gardiner would let her speak to him was if he had offered to marry her.

Mr. Gardiner nodded and smiled a little.

Had Lady Margaret broken it off after the scene she witnessed? Elizabeth had not imagined such a thing could happen, or that if it did he would ask her to marry him. Elizabeth's hands reached towards the door, but then she could not bring them the whole way to the knob.

She looked back at her uncle. "Why is he here? What does he want to say?"

"Go in, Lizzy. He has a question."

Her heart fluttering Elizabeth opened the door in a quick jerk and stepped in. She must be misunderstanding her uncle.

Darcy had been seated on a blue cushioned chair next to her uncle's desk. He shot up the instant she entered the room and took a quick step forward before halting and staring at her with wide eyes. His waistcoat was green and looked very handsome. He was lit from behind by the afternoon sunlight beaming through the windows. His strong jaw glowed. His hair was wild and disarrayed, falling over his forehead and ears.

She wanted to touch him, to touch him like she had earlier in the day. She wanted to touch him so dearly it hurt.

They stepped towards each other, and Elizabeth's stomach clenched tight. Suddenly shy, she could not keep looking at him and her eyes fell to the floor.

She heard Darcy's hoarse, passionate whisper, "Elizabeth!"

She knew.

The smile that beamed towards the floor grew so wide it hurt.

He took her hands in both of his own. "Elizabeth, I—"

She looked up at him again, silently urging him to continue.

Darcy seemed startled by her gaze, and he stared back at her with his own widening smile. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. The grip on her hands firmed. "Elizabeth. Elizabeth, would you — that is, Elizabeth—" A confused expression came over Darcy's face. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

The look in his eyes was wild, delightful.

Every fear that had haunted her disappeared. He was here because he loved her.

Elizabeth giggled. She felt so happy and buoyant it was as though she could leap over the house. "Fitzwilliam, I believe I have struck you speechless."

She giggled again at his embarrassed, yet very pleased expression.

"You have, my love."

She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him tight. Her smile was so wide it kept them from kissing quite right, so they embraced and Darcy squeezed her so tightly, and she wanted to scream with glee. Elizabeth smiled into the fabric of his cravat, enjoying the smell of Darcy, his cologne, and his laundered shirts.

They drew back a little and smiled into each other's eyes. They kissed again.

Elizabeth drew back and asked, with yet another delighted laugh, "You were trying to say something — did you perhaps have a question?"

Darcy's eyes sparkled. "I was. Let me see if I can find the proper words this time."

He showed that delightful smile which brought out his dimples and made his eyes light up. Before he could speak, Elizabeth kissed him again. She felt as though she was swooning; she felt light. Their tongues touched, and Elizabeth moaned softly with happiness.

Darcy released her lips, and before she could protest, he began to kiss her neck.

Suddenly remembering that her uncle was seated outside the door Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from moaning.

Darcy moved his mouth up to her ear, and flicked his tongue against it. "Words are overrated, my love."

His rolling whisper sent shivers through Elizabeth, and his words made it hard for her to keep standing as her knees turned loose and weak and she melted inside. Looking into his blue eyes she said, "Say it again."

Darcy grinned — that lovable, loving grin. "Words are overrated."

Elizabeth's arms were around his back, so she pinched him through his coat. "Not that part."

"My love. My love. My love."

Elizabeth replied, "I am yours, and you are mine."

Darcy pulled her close against his tall body and kissed her passionately.

Elizabeth said breathlessly after a minute, "See, you do like words."

"Kisses are even better."

Elizabeth laughed and they kissed again.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Elizabeth and Darcy jumped apart, straightening their clothes, grinning and blushing.

Thirty seconds later there was another knock, and Mr. Gardiner opened the door and entered, followed by Mrs. Gardiner and Kitty.

Elizabeth and Darcy blushed and grinned at everyone, and Mr. Gardiner said, "From your smiles, I can see it is settled."

"I am not certain," Elizabeth spoke brightly. "Mr. Darcy tried to ask me a question, however he allowed himself to become distracted from the task repeatedly. Just what had you planned to ask when I entered the room?"

"I can hardly remember — you distracted me very thoroughly." Though he did not laugh, Elizabeth could see complete satisfaction in Darcy's eyes.

Mr. Gardiner spoke to Darcy with a laugh, "The subject you said you would speak on was not one I can imagine a man forgetting easily. Lizzy, what did you do to him?"

Elizabeth blushed at her uncle's tease, delighted to see that he now at least provisionally accepted Mr. Darcy. She was delighted that Darcy would marry her, and she was simply delighted.

Mr. Darcy shook Kitty's hand and begged her to consider him a brother, and she asked if he might let her attend a ball. After how she had treated him that morning, Mr. Darcy was more cautious in his approach to Mrs. Gardiner, but she laughed and begged him to consider her family as well.

Darcy stayed in the house for several hours, and for half the time it was a group affair. The Gardiners' children came down, and Darcy and they were mutually charmed. Elizabeth watched with satisfaction how Mr. Gardiner gradually grew impressed with Darcy's conversation. For her part, now that she knew the match was settled, Mrs. Gardiner held no ill will towards Darcy.

Over the following hour, Elizabeth began to nervously wonder how the end of Darcy's engagement had come about. Seeing her turn pensive, Darcy begged a chance to just talk to her, though of course they would be watched. Darcy took her to sit right next to the window in the drawing room. The sky was turning red as the sun set. Elizabeth nervously shifted on the firm cushion of her chair.

He held her hand and squeezed it. "What is the matter, Lizzy?"

"What happened? It was my fault that I broke up your engagement, Lady Margaret saw me kiss you. And she must have been brokenhearted and angry since she ended it."

"No. I broke it off. I do not know what she would have said. I think she would have ended it if I did not speak first, but I am very glad I took it on myself, and I would have done so if she had remained in the drawing room and seen nothing of the matter. When I said I had a private matter to discuss with her, I planned to tell her."

"Oh." Elizabeth smiled up at him. She felt bubbly as she realized that when he saw them in the same room together he immediately chose _her_. Then she sighed. "And to think I was terribly jealous of the thought that poor Lady Margaret would be alone with you. How brokenhearted is she? I can't help feeling guilty, and people shall think very ill of me."

"She is relieved."

"Relieved!"

Darcy brought one of his hands away from her, and he rubbed frustratedly at his head. "Yes, she was."

"That makes no sense, I cannot understand why any woman would—"

"When I said I was the stupidest man in England, no in _all_ of His Majesty's domains it was no exaggeration."

Elizabeth smiled at Darcy's anger at himself. It also relieved her guilt; somehow he was _really_ convinced any injury Lady Margaret had received solely belonged to him. "That seems unlikely. There must be a great many stupid fellows in such a large mass of men."

"Yes, yes. And I am so self-absorbed that I only consider _my_ incredible selfishness and stupidity, without making any allowance for _theirs_. Perhaps I am merely _one_ of the stupidest men in the United Kingdom. Perhaps."

Elizabeth squeezed his hand. She loved that she had the right to touch him familiarly, even though she was in full view of her aunt and sister. She laid a hand on Darcy's knee to comfort him. "You are neither stupid nor selfish. I know you to be the most generous of men."

"I used Lady Margaret abominably, and what I did is not made better because my actions were exceptional for me. The sole reason I offered for her was that I had realized I loved you, and I wished to make it impossible to marry you. But because my mind was always on you, I never could show her more than a poor semblance of affection — I hurt her, and she has spent the last month wondering what I discovered that was so wrong with her that I recoiled if she even tried to touch my arm."

"You couldn't bear to touch her? Do you mean you never kissed her, not once?" Elizabeth blushed at her sudden exclamation.

"I did not." He grinned at her, the smile effacing his earlier frustration with himself. "You like that I did not."

"Well, yes."

Darcy's eyes glanced towards Mrs. Gardiner, then he leaned forward to speak intently to her. "Having kissed you, it would be impossible for me to kiss any other woman. For the honey taste of your lips on mine would make a mockery of any others, the feel of your velvet tongue sweeter than ambrosia sliding 'gainst mine, and…"

Elizabeth pushed him, blushing at his intense voice. Her insides curled.

Darcy said, "I was always thinking of you. I long since realized that I should have asked you to marry me, but it _is_ dishonorable to break an engagement, and I will rightly be shamed before many of my friends for doing so. It took some extreme emotion to make me realize I had no other choice. However, I am quite sure I would not have been able to marry her, even if you did not stride into my drawing room to slap me yesterday. The dishonorable act was _not_ when I broke the engagement. My offer of marriage was dishonorable. I never should have asked a sweet girl who I did not care for in the slightest to marry me. In effect I _lied_ to her. And I never shall act so again."

"You should not feel so guilty."

"I certainly should, but as _you_ have nothing to feel guilty about, it is no matter."

"I hurt when you do."

"I learned a lesson and matters could have turned out _far_ worse. I do not think any permanent harm of note has been done to anyone. I beg you not to hurt for me in _this_ case, because I am determined to imprint the lesson as deeply on my mind as I can, and my shame helps that."

"I imagine matters will be very bad. The scandal." Elizabeth's voice cracked and was small. She hated to think of him as shamed before his friends.

"It will not be _so_ bad. As I said, Lady Margaret was glad to learn that I was such a cold lover because I'd been in love with a different woman the entire time. _She_ is a great fan of _Pamela_ and is charmed by the similarity."

"It is entirely different! In every respect."

Darcy laughed. "Georgiana was present when Lady Margaret said that, and replied in _exactly_ the same manner."

"I simply _adore_ your sister. Though you know, someone ought to see to her morals. I am not one with a right to judge, but she was _encouraging_ me to, ah, live in sin with you."

"Yes, I rather suspected that. And that you were not completely averse to the idea."

Elizabeth blushed. And then she felt a little shamed. "Why are you marrying me? I did offer…and I do not like that you shall be speculated about, and…"

"I love you. That is why I wish to marry you. And you wish to marry me because _you_ love me, and we shall be happy together long after the entire scandal fades. We shall grow old together talking and holding hands every day."

That sort of sentimental nonsense was just like him. Elizabeth melted.

"I hope," Elizabeth replied impishly, "that we shall not _just_ talk and hold hands."

" _That_ is not a very maidenly suggestion." Darcy laughed. "But I _do_ think there are other things we shall do once married. But" — Darcy looked at Mrs. Gardiner who sat on the opposite side of the drawing room knitting — "Your aunt frightens me a little, so we shall wait until we out of her presence to discuss _those_ things in detail."

"Mrs. Gardiner, frightening? No! Though she was quite rude this morning."

Darcy said, "When we were apart, I ached for your presence. I missed your laughter and our conversations so much. There was not a single day I did not think of you repeatedly."

"And _I_ thought of you every day." Elizabeth giggled. "I kept expecting you would realize you loved me and then return and ask me to marry you. I was right, except that your stubbornness was profounder than I expected."

Darcy sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. "I also was exceedingly foxed the night before. It is not at all his fault, the guilt is mine, but my cousin Richard made me drink a great deal and was very insistent I marry Lady Margaret."

"You asked her to marry you as a drunken impulse? My jealousy will not survive these revelations. Also, dear, once we are married, I shall insist you avoid so much heavy drink unless _I_ am the one pushing suggestions on you."

He shook his head. "I haven't been able to smell whiskey for the last month without feeling sick. Richard claimed he knew my tolerance when he made me drink glass after glass. I think he did not account for how little I've drunk compared to him since university."

"He made you drink so much? My poor Fitzwilliam! All this time I expected to like your cousins, but these revelations will not encourage good feelings."

Darcy laughed. "Yes, I _am_ an adult and ought to choose how much I drink on my own. If it gives you fonder feelings towards Richard, he pushed me to realize I loved you. Though his method is not one I suspect you would approve of."

"Oh. How did he do that?"

Darcy reddened and coughed in embarrassment.

Elizabeth bit her lip happily, loving this close conversation, when just so recently it seemed like everything would be horrible. "Do say."

"I think I shall claim the right of manly confidences being private and hide the exact suggestion he made. But…" He paused. When he continued it was in a low intense voice that made Elizabeth's stomach quiver, "You have this light in your eyes, it is there right now. And there is something special in your voice, and in the way you laugh, and in how you tease me. You are unique. Nobody else could do what you do to me."


	23. Chapter 23

Early the next morning Darcy called on Elizabeth. They walked hand in hand to the parish church to ask the curate to have the banns read for them on Sunday.

They strolled arm in arm about the nearby park, followed by Mrs. Gardiner and Kitty at a modest distance. Given the sharpness of argument with Darcy the previous day, it did not surprise Darcy that Mr. Gardiner wished to ensure the engaged couple was supervised.

While for some minutes they laughed and teased each other, Elizabeth eventually sighed and said, "My mind keeps returning to Jane. I am a hypocrite. I spoke so horribly to her. And then offered myself to you. I am not better than her; I do not wish to be better. And I hurt her terribly with what I said."

Darcy squeezed Elizabeth's arm and pulled her a bit closer to him. He did not think she really wanted him to say anything, but he knew his presence and touch comforted her.

"I was so angry. As if it was a crime against me and not herself. As though… It still seems incredible that Jane would go to Bingley under such circumstances. She was scared to let me see that her thoughts were different than what I wanted them to be, and then I completely rejected her."

"She cares for you as much as you do her. I think very well of her, not solely because she is your sister."

"I pushed her towards Bingley thinking matters would somehow work out if they could just fall in love — might it be my fault?"

"If so—" Darcy felt uncomfortable expressing an opinion he thought Elizabeth still found objectionable. "If so, was it a bad thing?"

Elizabeth laughed. " _You_ would think in that manner. You are right. From the material standpoint it is a good situation, and she loves Bingley. Yet, I cannot…I cannot forget what I was taught."

She slumped after saying that and brushed at her right cheek.

"Lizzy, we are to be one. You are mine, and I am yours. When I would not take what you offered because I knew some part of you would be hurt if I did, it was as though you stopped yourself."

She looked up at him. "Oh. You are right. I cannot even express how much I love you."

Darcy pulled up Elizabeth's hand and kissed it. Even though they were in public, and Mrs. Gardiner and Kitty were behind them, the tenderness he felt demanded physical expression.

Elizabeth's eyes shined. "I am so happy. I am too happy."

"You always believed that your virtue would be rewarded."

"That is not the moral of the tale at all! For it was when I abandoned the virtuous stance that you offered to marry me."

"Do not concern yourself about _that_. I would have in any case. If you'd not interrupted me with that kiss, I'd have asked you to marry me in front of Lady Margaret and your aunt."

"Oh." Elizabeth thought about that and smiled.

A cold gust of air blew past, and despite his heavy coat, Darcy nearly shivered. Darcy glanced back at Mrs. Gardiner, who looked cold herself, and then with a grin he put his arm around Elizabeth and pulled her close. She blushed but leaned against him.

"You appear cold."

"I prefer the freedom of the walk to sitting at home."

"Georgiana plans to call on you later today. She is insistent that we share you, like a treasured toy. I plan to be the spoiled child who does not understand how. Your uncle suggested I act in such a manner."

Elizabeth laughed. "I doubt that is precisely what he said."

"It was. In every respect."

"I would not mind much if I am never shared."

"Then it is a plan." Darcy squeezed her against his side again. Then he sighed, "I will need to leave you alone for some time. I must go to my club and start telling acquaintances about matters. Give it the best semblance, and keep the scandal focused on _me_ , not you and Lady Margaret."

"I understand." Elizabeth squeezed herself tighter against him.

With his free hand Darcy rubbed at his forehead. "You should go to Jane, apologize to her. You wish to, and you will not be easy until you do."

"I'm afraid."

Darcy smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"I will go — oh! You shall not mind if I call on her on occasions? I do hope Jane will forgive me. I shall be discreet, but if I am to be your wife — you must wish me to cut some associations — she is Bingley's mistress. Do promise me that you will not let _your_ friendship with him be injured over the matter."

" _I_ will not seek to control who you associate with. I wish you to be happy."

The memory of Lydia and her shirtless husband flashed into his mind. It was impossible to keep his nose from wrinkling with disgust. He would rather tear his own arm off than hurt Elizabeth over such a matter, but it was impossible to not wish that Lydia had not married a _little_ better.

Elizabeth saw his reaction. "If I must lose former connections to keep from embarrassing you, I must. Jane will understand if—"

" _Jane_ is not half so embarrassing a connection as _Lydia_. More scandalous, but _far_ less embarrassing."

"Oh." Elizabeth's laugh seemed to release a nervous tension. "She is my sister, but we never were close — if you wish me to break the connection—"

Darcy shook his head. "I wish you to show every proper respect to your relations. I think neither of us would like to be on intimate terms with Mr. and Mrs. Brown, however I will enjoy _occasional_ meetings. And we shall support the education and careers of their children."

"Will that not make people think poorly of you?"

"Elizabeth, they already will." He grinned at her. "You shall never — at least not for a decade — receive an invitation to Almack's, and much of the exclusive set will avoid you. But there are many, starting with my sister and uncle, who shall be our sincere friends. "

"It will be odd to live on such a different scale from Lydia."

"She is happy, we are happy — and we will waste no more time thinking on it."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement.

"I hope the revelation that marriage to me shall likely not bring invitation to Almack's does not cause you to reconsider. If so, I shall be heartbroken."

Elizabeth smiled impishly at him. "It does. It is a hard blow. Have I not told you that my dearest dream was to dance there — and at one of those delightful affairs at St. James? The ones where they make all of the ladies wear those outmoded dresses and watch while everyone goes up one by one go up to dance a cotillion — Sir William has described them in detail."

"You look far prettier in a modern dress, my dear." Darcy lowered his voice and leaned his head closer to Elizabeth's. "The better to kiss you in."

She blushed and laughed prettily. "And I shall expect you to kiss me often — it is the only consideration which overcomes my disappointment at the loss of Almack's. Especially since — do they not demand you wear white leather breeches and stockings?"

"They do."

She looked sideways at him and eyeballed Darcy up and down. "I think it a fine costume."

"Proper trousers are more comfortable."

"Aha! It shall be a punishment appropriate for not giving me entrée into all parts of society when I force you to wear them for a _private_ ball."

At the word private, her eyes flicked down. She then looked away blushing merrily.

Darcy replied, "I shall expect _you_ to wear something improper for such a ball. Perhaps you might dress as Pamela, the housemaid."

Elizabeth giggled. "And then you shall be the ravishing gentleman. Only _this_ time the maid will be more persuadable, but _just barely_."

Darcy laughed. "The month we must wait shall be _very_ long."

The circle the party was walking in turned back towards the Gardiners' house. As the walk neared its end Elizabeth's mood fell. Sensing her tension, Darcy said in a soft voice, "Are you worried about seeing Jane?"

"Yes. I must. I must apologize — she begged me to accept her and still love her, but…but I called her a whore and said she was not my sister."

"She will forgive you, if she deserves your affection, she will."

"I think she will — my aunt and uncle, you must have realized they care for respectability more than I do. My aunt shall not let me visit her."

"You have my complete support. I can lend you a carriage, though that would not solve the problem of improper appearances. At least, I can see a message delivered to her."

Elizabeth nodded her thanks.

When they reached the Gardiners' house, Darcy took Mrs. Gardiner to the side and said, "Elizabeth spoke to me of how distressed she still is by the conversation she had with Miss Jane. She said things she wishes to unsay. I know you do not wish your carriage to call on Miss Bennet, but I could hire a hackney cab for Elizabeth, and if a maid went with her, appearances would be kept up that far. You perhaps plan to cut off all connections, but Elizabeth does not and…"

Mrs. Gardiner glanced at Elizabeth, who was speaking with Kitty and one of her children.

"Perhaps I should speak to my husband first, but…she is to be your wife soon. If you have no objection, I suppose it is not our place. I know Elizabeth has mentioned Jane several times to me. I'll allow your scheme."

It was arranged that Elizabeth would call immediately so that she could return before Georgiana planned to call this afternoon, and Darcy left to go to his club.

The previous day Darcy had gone to the offices of _Times_ to have an announcement printed this morning declaring his engagement to Elizabeth and the dissolution of his connection with Lady Margaret.

As soon as he entered the building several gentlemen approached him. A baronet a year older than Darcy was the first to speak. "Abandoning your Lady Margaret for another woman. Very bad form, Darcy, very bad. Not the thing to do."

Darcy had never liked Sir Thomas at all, but he still nodded and said, "It was terribly bad form. I acted abominably."

"Hmph. Never would have guessed it of you, Darcy. Never would have."

Darcy said acerbically, "It is a lesson to the rest of you that even the cleverest fellow can place himself in an awful scrape."

"Yes, yes. And the story is no one has heard of this new girl. No one at all." Sir Thomas stamped his foot. "And that is beside the point. One does not jilt a decent young lady. It is not the thing at all."

Derwent and Richard walked into the group around Darcy. Derwent said red faced, "Damn you, Darcy, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Darcy grimaced. "Are you that terribly angry on Lady Margaret's behalf?"

"Angry, no. Why would I be angry because you abandoned my _cousin_ to marry a penniless nobody?" Derwent continued in a sarcastic voice, "I was certain Father was funning with me for half his explanation."

Derwent looked around the group. "Darcy isn't just stupid, he is pathetic. He asked this Miss Elizabeth to be his mistress months ago. She was raised as a decent gentlewoman, so she refused him. And Darcy just went off with his tail between his legs. Pathetic. He can't seduce a woman, not even when he's desperate for the chit."

Sir Thomas and everyone else laughed. "That's right," Sir Thomas said, "Darcy can talk well, but he never drives the _point_ home."

"I sometimes wonder if he has a _point_." Derwent laughed harshly. "Now, Margaret took a shine to Darcy, and he engaged himself to her, but he was so _unmanned_ by the memory of his lady love, that he couldn't even touch Grettie."

The group snickered at Darcy. Derwent continued, "I wonder if everything is quite _right_ with him. You've all seen Lady Margaret. No _normal_ man would _jump_ away from her if she tried to touch them. Most hilarious damn fool thing I'd ever seen. And I've seen a great deal."

"Derwent, that is enough sport at my expense."

Richard snickered, and everyone laughed again.

Derwent said, "So then the instant he saw this Miss Elizabeth again, it was entirely by chance, he dropped on his knees and begged her to marry him, never mind that he was already engaged to my cousin. He is a regular Squire Booby. Real men don't act so. But what is done is done, and Grettie is a damned bit better off without him."

Darcy drew himself up, towering over the other men. "You've had your fun, but any more insults will not be tolerated, _Derwent_."

"Margaret is my cousin. If I wasn't completely convinced you'd been so limp that you didn't even kiss her, I'd have called you out."

A wave of snickers went through the group. By now everyone in the front room of the club was gathered round listening, and the story of the conversation would soon pass from here to everyone in London society.

Darcy stalked away and entered a private side room. He ordered a bottle of wine and poured himself a half full glass.

Five minutes later Derwent and Richard entered the room, and Darcy stood and briskly shook Derwent's hand. "Thank you; that should keep Lady Margaret's reputation as clean as possible."

"Yes." Derwent and Richard sat down and poured themselves glasses of wine. "I wish I could have done more for your Elizabeth, but there is no way that she will not be seen as a fortune hunter, but hopefully they will see her as a _virtuous_ one."

Darcy shrugged. "Eventually such matters are forgotten. But Lady Margaret must marry."

"Yes, yes. The whole matter is a deuced bother. You ought to have seduced her and kept her as your fancy piece. Anyone else would have, and then we would not have this whole mess."

"I love her too much to not marry her."

"Nonsense. Hogwash." Derwent drank all of the wine in his glass and pulled the bottle over to refill it. He turned to his brother. "We've always known Darcy was not playing with a full deck. You are the one who really irks me. Why the devil did you convince him to offer for Margaret?"

"Darcy is our cousin! I did not wish to see him throw himself away."

"The matter is entirely my fault," Darcy said, recalling the evening where he had realized he loved Elizabeth. "Richard merely helped me realize certain things, and then I acted precipitously."

"Yes, yes — we all know you're dreadfully guilty for the _one_ time you acted in a stupid manner." Derwent glared at Richard again. "We might not be so close to Margaret as we are to Darcy, but she is also our cousin, and moreover a woman. You owed her just as much concern."

"Marrying Darcy would have been a deuced good thing for her."

"Not when he was obsessed by another woman!"

Darcy grinned at his cousins' argument. "I must insist that the entirety of the guilt is mine. Even if Richard _was_ a numbskull."

Richard exclaimed, "Is this is all the thanks I get for—"

"I ended up so drunk that I had an awful headache for six hours the next morning. I haven't been so sick since university. _Gratitude_ is not what I feel."

The door to their private room opened, and Bingley stepped in. "By Jove, Darcy. By Jove. Are you truly marrying Miss Elizabeth?"

"Yes."

"I am deuced glad to hear it. I can't say I am that surprised. Everyone is making a joke of you, but I think you'll find being an object of ridicule bracing, and I'm dreadful fond of Miss Elizabeth. I remember how you two would laugh together and talk endlessly. I know you will be quite happy together. And you have my heartiest congratulations."

Darcy stood and shook his friend's hand. "Thank you, thank you. Do sit down."

Bingley sat down and took the glass of wine immediately poured for him. "Hello, hello." He half waved at Derwent and Richard. "Everyone told me what you said to Darcy in the front room. That was not kindly done, not at all. Even if you are angry. I'm half surprised Darcy didn't call you out for insulting him in public that way."

Rather than replying Derwent sniffed his wine glass and took an aesthete's sip.

Darcy was delighted to see Bingley, and glad that _one_ of his dearest friends was completely approving instead of barely tolerant. "Derwent came at me in that manner out of arrangement. We wish to keep Lady Margaret's reputation as unharmed as possible."

"Oh. Oh, I see. Quite clever of you. Cunning. Draw as much of the scorn on yourself as possible to spare the ladies. Very gallant."

"Thank you. I thought it was very gallant myself."

Richard said, "Wait, Bingley, isn't your new mistress Miss Elizabeth's sister? That exquisite blonde creature you took to the theater last night?"

Bingley nodded and frowned a little jealously at Richard's praise of Jane's appearance.

Richard continued, "That is a problem."

"Damn!" Bingley pulled at the sleeve of his coat. "I _am_ deuced glad you're marrying Miss Elizabeth, but it does put _me_ into a pickle."

Darcy tapped his finger on his glass and took another sip of his wine. The room was a bit dim with the only light coming in from a smallish window and the blazing fire. "I say, Bingley, why don't you marry Miss Jane?"

"Marry her? But—"

"She will be my sister-in-law, and I'll put up a substantial dowry. People will say you gulled me, and that you got money, exactly the woman you wanted, and a connection to an earl's family all at once. I think Elizabeth would be delighted if Jane was settled that way, and we _know_ she loves you."

"Hmmm." Bingley grinned and slammed his hands together. "That is exactly what I will do. But we'll just tell everyone you are giving out such a large dowry. No need to actually transfer the ready. I don't need more money, but this way Caroline and Louisa will _eventually_ speak to me again. I've wished it were possible for me to marry Jane for months, but with her connections…" He sighed. "I suppose I am not so brave as you."

 **AN: So it was nice to see people become happier when Elizabeth and Darcy at last got properly together :D, so on August 24, 25,26 and 27 my book Colonel Darcy will be available for free on Amazon, so enjoy if you are following - since it isn't going to start posting here for another three months.**


	24. Chapter 24

The housekeeper who responded to Elizabeth's knock recognized her from the other time she had visited. The woman drew back with a pursed, sour expression. She frowned at Elizabeth.

"Is Miss Bennet… Jane… The lady present?"

"It was unkind for you to yell at her so last time. The lady is a sweet young thing. There is no cause for you to shout and rail at her again. She knows you disapproved, the poor dear cried for an hour once Mr. Bingley left that night, and I had to pat her back and comfort her. I say Miss Jane is a perfectly good lady — she is gentle bred — and I'll not have you bother her again like last time."

"Oh — did she cry so? I'm glad you were there. Please, I wish to apologize to her. I should not have spoken so cruelly, not to my sister."

The housekeeper who had already developed a quick affection for Jane questioned Elizabeth at length before she was satisfied that her visitor really wished to fix matters.

When Elizabeth was led into the drawing room, she noticed features about the room that hadn't touched her awareness during the first visit. The couches and chairs were a deep vibrant red, the walls were painted in a soft pink color. It had a small but functional fireplace and chimney. The room was cold so the housekeeper stirred the fire to life and added several pieces of firewood before leaving.

The floor was covered in a thick rug that Elizabeth thought it would be delightful to walk upon in stockings or bare feet.

It looked like you could comfortably sleep on that rug.

That thought gave Elizabeth a sudden suspicion, and blushing brightly, she scooted away from it and settled onto one of the dark red couches, carefully keeping her feet _off_ the rug.

Jane had gone out to pick up a few items from nearby shops, but she should be back within the half hour.

Elizabeth nervously worried at her gloves. She wished she had asked Darcy to call with her. She wished she wasn't here at all.

Whore, whore, whore.

Jane wouldn't forgive her. Not this new Jane who would become a man's mistress. Did she even want to be forgiven? Jane…Jane was not who Elizabeth always thought she was. Elizabeth did not know how close of friends she could be with this different Jane.

The door opened, and Jane entered hesitantly. The dress she wore this time was a decent day dress, with a high lace collar and a wide green ribbon. Yellow curls fell around Jane's face in a becoming manner. Her skin was clear and there was a warm glow to her that Elizabeth thought came both from superior rouge and nature.

Jane walked slowly forward and she eyed Elizabeth cautiously, as though her sister were an ill-tempered dog who might suddenly begin to snap and bite.

Other than her expression, Jane looked very well indeed.

Elizabeth started up from her seat and stepped towards Jane. For a moment they looked at each other from across several feet, and then the two sisters were in each other's arms, crying and exclaiming that they were so sorry and didn't mean what they had said, not really.

Still holding hands, they sat down.

Elizabeth said, "You are my sister, my dearest sister. I love you no matter what or who you are. I only wish I had realized how you felt."

"And then you would have tried to stop me. I am happy. Perhaps I should feel terribly guilty, but I do not."

"Oh. I am glad. I think I am. If I was still so angry at you, it would be hypocrisy, because—"

"Oh!" Jane's face was concerned. "You did not agree to become Mr. Darcy's mistress at last? Oh, I shall never forgive myself if my example drove you to make a choice you shall regret."

"I am not, I have not. I…" Elizabeth realized she was frightened of how Jane would react to the news that she was engaged to Mr. Darcy. The old Jane she had thought she knew would be purely happy for her sister, but might this new Jane react with jealousy?

Jane spoke into Elizabeth's pause, "I am glad — you should not. I know you hope to marry, and I know you were angry, but I _do_ want to help. Bingley is very generous, and he will put two thousand pounds as a—"

"Jane, I offered to become his mistress. But he, instead he…"

Elizabeth halted again. It was so hard to say something which should be so happy to her dearest sister. The sister whose own wealthy gentleman had not offered to marry her.

Jane embraced her in sympathy. "Oh, Lizzy — due to his engagement he refused? That must have hurt terribly."

"He asked me to marry him. I agreed. He has ended his connection with Lady Margaret."

"Oh."

Jane was silent and frowned. Elizabeth watched her anxiously, hoping that the newly regained bond with her sister would not be shredded.

At last Jane spoke, "That is a great surprise — are you sure?"

"It is hardly a matter on which I would be likely to be mistaken."

"No… I mean…gentlemen sometimes make promises they do not intend to keep to—"

"I offered to become his mistress only hours earlier! The proposal was made in our uncle's study, and this morning we arranged with the curate at Gracechurch parish for the banns to be read Sunday. I am quite sure your suggestion is wrong."

Jane stared at Elizabeth for a moment, and then with a large, open, and genuine smile she exuberantly threw her arms around Elizabeth. "I'm so very, very, very happy for you. I knew you loved him — oh, I have never been so happy to hear such news."

Elizabeth whispered, "You are not jealous then…since, well…"

"Of course not! How…how could you think that?" Jane embraced Elizabeth again. "Oh never mind, I am too happy to be hurt or annoyed."

Elizabeth returned her sister's tight embrace, and she knew that underneath it all, Jane was still the same sweet sister who tended to think too well of everyone.

Jane said, "Besides, after disliking how you would always expect me to be perfectly sweet and never jealous, I cannot be unhappy when you wonder if I _might_ be."

They both laughed, and Jane added, "We are happy, and there is nothing more I could wish for."

Jane suddenly looked sad.

"What is it?"

"I shall miss you all. Mama will correspond, so long as we are discreet and use other names, but Mr. Darcy might be displeased if he learns that—"

" _That_ is no worry. My Mr. Darcy is entirely his own man. He thinks different than most on such matters. He convinced Mrs. Gardiner to let me call on you."

Jane sparkled. "Oh I am so glad. So very glad. Now that I know I shall keep your friendship, I am completely happy."

"And you shall — you shall. Things may change, but we shall be the closest of sisters. I must have you meet Georgiana, Darcy's sister. There will be no problem there, as her uncle has always made certain she knew her governess was his mistress. She delights in seeing scandalous matters."

There was a knock on the door and Mr. Bingley entered.

He smiled at Elizabeth and stepped forward to shake her hand. "I just saw Darcy at the club — I must congratulate you, and very heartily too."

Elizabeth smiled. "You must."

"I confess I was shocked to hear his news, but almost immediately I thought this to be a fine thing. Your minds match. Darcy will be a terrible laughingstock for the next six months or a year, and people will likely roll their eyes at him for a few years more, but sooner or later that will all settle down — you two suit very well. And he does not need _more_ money or connections."

Bingley laughed, and Elizabeth and Jane joined him.

The group talked for another minute, however there was an awkwardness in Bingley, and Jane kept eyeing him in a brazen manner. With a start, Elizabeth realized the two were somewhat like a young married couple desperate for privacy. So Elizabeth excused herself, saying she was to meet Georgiana this afternoon.

DODODODO

Jane was so happy to see Elizabeth again. Even though she now was ruined, and a sinner, and a bad girl, Jane thought everything had turned out perfectly. She knew she could not trust the happiness to last forever, but perhaps if she worked to keep Bingley attached to her, it would.

He had told her he loved her. Right before she gave her maidenhead to him, when they were entangled together, he said it. "I love you, Janie."

She was glad he had not said it before. It showed how he meant it. He said it because he wished her to know, not to seduce her. He was a good man.

People fell out of love often, but Jane believed she could keep Bingley happy forever. Bingley was much like her in wishing a calm domestic happiness. They felt so safe and warm together, and Jane was certain he would not tire of her simply because she would grow old. If she never took him for granted, she could maintain the attachment. She would always strive to be the perfect woman for her Bingley.

The news of Elizabeth's engagement was a complete, delightful, shock. As was her promise that they would remain as close sisters. Nothing could increase her present happiness.

However, once Bingley returned, even though she _wished_ to focus on her sister, it was impossible.

The sensation was still too fresh for her to be used to it. She kept glancing at Bingley's lips, and hips, and shoulders and hands. Their feet would fall right where Elizabeth sat when they made love on the couch. Jane's face flamed at the thought.

She wanted his masculine lips on hers. And to pull at the curly hair all over his body. He caught her eyes with a promise in them, and he glanced at her breasts.

It was embarrassing to feel this much lust while talking to her sister, but hopefully Lizzy had no idea what they were thinking.

Elizabeth suddenly blushed and hurriedly said, "Oh. I just recalled. I must go, I am to meet Georgiana this afternoon. But I will call on you again soon. I wish you could call on me, but Mrs. Gardiner would not allow _that_. Till later."

While a small part of Jane was unhappy that her reunion with Elizabeth was so quickly over, most of her mind was focused on leaping forward and hungrily kissing Bingley before the door was fully shut.

She felt so deliciously wicked pressing her tongue into his mouth, and the elated lightness grew in her belly. However, when Jane reached her hands into Bingley's coat to remove it, he stopped her.

"I have something I must say." He brought her to sit down, holding her hands.

"Yes?" Jane was half curious and half desperate to return to removing the coat.

"I… Miss Elizabeth's engagement to Darcy. It changes matters, and… well…"

Bingley swallowed. Jane stared at him with a sudden terror that Darcy had asked him to put her aside because he didn't want his sister-in-law to be in such a situation. How would she convince Bingley to keep her? She couldn't lose him now. She cared nothing for any money he might give her for compensation.

"Dash it all! I've wanted to marry you since the day you told me you were _glad_ you knew me. You were so hurt, but you worried about me more than yourself. I have hated what I owed my family. But now that you'll be Darcy's sister in law, Caroline will accept it eventually. Besides, I…I loved you before, but _now_ , after what we've shared, and what I feel in your arms. I don't wish to ever be with another woman. Jane" — he moved off the sofa dropped to his knees, still holding her hands — "will you make me the happiest of men?"

Jane squealed and embraced him.

Sometime later, they lay naked side by side on the deep carpet of the drawing room, warmed by the brightly burning fire. Jane rested her head on Bingley's chest and her fingertips drew slow circles on his skin. She beamed and he kept his arm around her, pulling her flush against him.

"We could marry by special license tomorrow." Bingley's fingers played with her hip as he spoke. "We might go back to Meryton and spread around in the neighborhood the story that we always intended to marry."

Startled by a sudden anger that broke through her happiness, Jane lifted her head and snarled, "I don't care what _they_ think. I _want_ them to think ill of me."

Bingley's hand that had been playing against her side froze, then he pulled her tighter against him and kissed her hair. They were quiet, and Jane slowly relaxed again into the warmth of Bingley's skin against hers.

She tried to identify where that anger had come from. She imagined her one-time dearest friend Harriet Gould visiting her, eagerly calling her Jane once more, and begging to know when she would hold a ball.

Respectability and money meant that even though everyone would _know_ she had run away with a man with no intention of marrying him, they would now treat her as though she were the best sort of person, while when she did everything she was supposed to, they all had thought ill of her.

People so often treated those who had good fortune as though they were good, and those who had bad fortune as though they were bad. Jane knew she did too. Elizabeth was the only one she knew who mostly did not.

"Could we… If you do not wish me to, I will not, and nothing more will be said from me on the matter, but… I wish to call on my sister, Lydia. I need to apologize to her."

Bingley shifted so that he looked directly at her. His brown eyes poured into hers. Growing nervous, Jane brushed some of her curls back from her forehead, and said, "Elizabeth calls on her. At least she did. Maybe Mr. Darcy will not let her anymore. I will not… I should not have said anything."

"I wish I had been brave enough to ask you to marry me a long time ago. I wish I hadn't waited till Darcy prompted me. I wish I had not let you come to me this way, but instead asked you to marry me when you offered. I wish I was… I wish I was a man who had done everything for you, instead of a coward who only asked you to marry me when Darcy became the one who everyone shall laugh at. It was never Caroline; I could not care about her at all. It was everyone else."

This confession made Jane so happy she began to cry.

She pressed her mouth against Bingley's fiercely, and despite his confusion he kissed her back passionately.

Bingley drew back and said, "You could have her and the blacksmith live in the big house with us, if you wish. And we'll marry but not tell anyone; we'll scandalize the neighborhood by openly living in sin, and only if the owner of Netherfield demands we stop will we tell everyone. And we'll—"

Jane giggled wildly. "That is the silliest idea I've ever heard." She kissed him again. "Oh, I love you so much. So much."

Bingley kissed her back and then said with a smile, "Are you certain, I rather fancy shocking all the good people in such a manner."

Jane giggled again. She was so happy; she wished to imprint the moment forever in her brain, with her skin against his, his smile, the taste of his lips, the faint pleasant pungency of the burning wood, the long threads of the deep carpet against her naked back and sides.

"I won't hurt you again." Bingley brushed his hand down her cheeks. "I won't ever let fear of what another person thinks cause me to hurt you."

Jane placed her hand on his cheek, and they looked at each other, their eyes inches apart, each pressing a hand against the other's face. She said, "I'm glad I came to you this way."

 **AN: Just so you all know, until Aug 27 (probably midnight Eastern time), my book Colonel Darcy is available free at Amazon.**

 **Also, I'm going to see if you all are a decent research resource. Does anyone know anything about vegetarianism in the Regency period?**


	25. Chapter 25

Elizabeth forced herself to not nervously fidget as the carriage turned onto the road along which Matlock House was situated.

Darcy squeezed the hand he held again. "You are too charming to not charm. Do you not recall that a single gaze from you was enough to pierce my heart?"

Elizabeth nodded, but she was too tense to giggle. Darcy loved his uncle and cousins dearly, and she would make a terrible impression. Darcy expected them to embrace her like Georgiana did, but her vivid imagination could not stop seeing some social disaster that ended with a complete break that would be her fault.

Anxiety that she was harming his position by marrying him had built over the past few days. Everyone had stared at her when she went to a pretty opera with Darcy the previous night, and she had not been able to enjoy the music at all.

"I wish the new dresses we've ordered were finished."

"You look beautiful."

"A _poor_ sort of beautiful."

"It would not impress my aunt more if you looked the sort of beautiful that comes with too much money."

"No, I will look like a fortune hunter, no matter what I do."

The carriage rolled to a stop. Darcy kissed her on the mouth, carefully, knowing how much effort she'd put into getting her face to look just right. "Lizzy, do not worry. My uncle will soon adore you, and I shall have to box Richard's ears to stop him from flirting with you."

When they were ushered into the drawing room, all of the gentlemen stood. Lord Matlock was a lean man with a full head of dark grey hair and a sharp intelligent gaze. Lord Derwent looked much like him, while Colonel Fitzwilliam was shorter, but he had a resplendent uniform.

Darcy said sharply, "Where is Lady Susan?"

"Introduce your bride to us, and then we'll talk about her." Saying this, Lord Matlock took Elizabeth's hand and kissed it gallantly as Darcy introduced them. "My lady, your beauty will be a great addition to our house. Though I understand your intelligence and good sense will be of even greater value."

She was then introduced to Lord Derwent and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Colonel Fitzwilliam said, "By Jove, you _are_ beautiful. I'd expected you to be quite the opposite from how Darcy talks about you. I thought you'd be a dowdy bookish sort, who was only made tolerable by the eyes of a man obsessed with a girl who finally would let him bore her endlessly without being bored. But you are the prettiest girl I've ever seen. How can you stand my cousin?"

"'Tis a difficult task. But he quotes poetry to me so beautifully." Despite the absence of Lady Matlock, Elizabeth's nerves settled. She had an intuitive certainty that she would like Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Ah, so his bookish nonsense _is_ the draw. It is his good fortune that such a one as you exists."

Elizabeth smiled back. "There are many who receive above their desserts. And I _am_ known as a great reader, though not a dowdy one."

Colonel Fitzwilliam said, "Ah, if only _I_ had seen you first. But let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediment — proving that _I_ can quote poetry also."

Darcy grabbed her hand, and they all sat down. The sofa had deep comfortable cushions, like those in Darcy's townhouse. The carved mahogany lion's paws for feet were also quite pretty to look at.

Darcy said, "Richard, you've been a deuced problem the entire time."

Elizabeth shifted around on the cushions to become more comfortable. Being set at her ease by the goodhearted way she was greeted helped Elizabeth decide that, while she had not set out to marry a very rich man, she _would_ enjoy the luxuries associated with doing so.

Colonel Fitzwilliam replied, "The story of our modern Pamela would not be so charming without such impediments as the family might throw up beforehand. _Now_ you are one of us, and we are all united in bowing before your beauty. A task made far easier because of how great that beauty is. Had I'd known you were so deuced pretty, I would have told Darcy to offer for you straight away."

Elizabeth exclaimed, "Modern Pamela?"

"Yes, yes," Lord Matlock said. "That is what they are calling you. Now—"

Darcy spoke over his uncle, "Where is Lady Susan?"

"She was deuced displeased with you after you refused to pretend you thought you had made a mistake when she lectured you yesterday. She has decided to go to her brother's place to lecture Margaret for _her_ part in what she has labelled 'the disaster'."

Elizabeth bit her lip as the anxiety came back. "Does she dislike me so much? I do not wish to create dissension, and…"

Matlock waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, don't be bothered by _that_ at all. She doesn't care a whit for you. In so far as she thinks about you, she thinks well of your sense. Better probably than she should. She'll do what is necessary in public. It is Darcy and Margaret she is angry at. My wife has always known I kept mistresses, and she has had her own lovers. We get along very well together, and always have. But Susan finds it hard to accept that other people might wish a different sort of marriage. She is not so flexible in her thinking as I am."

Elizabeth blinked.

"Are you going to be the prudish sort who can't talk about such matters?"

"I think I can speak about them. I shall have to if I am going to be as dear a friend to Georgiana as she expects me to be. I do not know that I approve of your philosophy of education, but I confess it does have advantages."

Lord Matlock laughed. "Yes, everyone says that, except the ones who completely deplore it. But Georgie is a good sensible girl."

Elizabeth smiled brightly. " _I_ like her very much."

"So, my wife is telling Margaret she should have convinced Darcy that she would not mind in the slightest if he kept a mistress whom he loved far more than her. Now, this is how it will likely be, you've been labelled by the gossip as a real life Pamela, and—"

"Now wait. I was perfectly content that you would sound about that Darcy asked me to come under his protection before he offered for Lady Margaret, since anything I can do to help _her_ position I must. But I certainly was not a housemaid, and" — Elizabeth squeezed Darcy's arm — "he _too_ politely let me alone once I declined the offer. Pamela was a silly sort, and Darcy is entirely different from that rake."

Colonel Fitzwilliam exclaimed, "Are you not charmed by the romance of the whole thing?"

"I am _very_ charmed by the romance of the whole thing. But it is similar to an entirely different book — I absolutely refuse to be called a Pamela."

Matlock snorted, and then laughed boomingly. "It is like _some_ book. Two days before he left to see Bingley, I remember it clear as day, Darcy swore up and down that he would never _let_ himself fall in love. Anyone who says that inevitably shall straightaway."

Darcy sheepishly looked up at the ceiling while Elizabeth grinned at his handsome face. "Did you quote Shakespeare to him? 'I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love'."

"No." Matlock's booming laughter echoed again. "I ought to have. In any case, the story about Pamela will help you. A fair number of empty headed women, most young, but some old enough to know better, are completely charmed by the story. They will eagerly invite you about and call on you once you are settled in."

"Really? There are ladies wish to know me because my story is similar to Pamela's — except it is not. Not at all."

Darcy poked her in the side with his elbow. "If you did not despise the novel, you would admit the similarity yourself."

"But I do despise the novel, so I claim the right of my sex to be irrational and arbitrary at times."

Matlock said, "Don't try to convince everyone you meet that you hate the comparison. It would not be politic. But _do_ try to convince them that you were not a housemaid, and that your father was a respectable gentleman."

"If it will help Fitzwilliam, I can keep my eyes from rolling each time I am told my case is just like _Pamela_."

"Excellent. Excellent. I like you, Miss Bennet. I expected to, since Darcy has always been a sensible fellow, but it is nice to see my nephew picked a girl _worth_ the bother to make a fool of himself over. Be patient and in a few years you will be mostly accepted. You can make friends with the girls who are charmed by your story, and then they will invite you about, and since you are being invited about, eventually no one will think anything of it."

Darcy said, "I do not see that this is really so important. If I am not required to go to so many balls and routs, _that_ would not bother _me_ at all."

The way Darcy bit out the words and wrinkled his nose made Elizabeth dissolve into giggles. "That was the first thing I heard you say."

"What?"

"I overheard Bingley begging you to dance, and you replied that you'd already done your social duty and had had quite enough dancing for one night."

"Oh. Yes."

Derwent raised his eyebrow. "I hope, for your sake, this story ends with you asking Miss Elizabeth to dance."

Darcy exclaimed, "Of course I did."

Derwent said, "It is just I have this image in my mind of you realizing that Miss Elizabeth was listening, and then saying loudly so she could hear: _she is tolerable I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me_."

Darcy flushed. "I would never say anything so rude to a lady."

"You would think it." Elizabeth giggled again. "Do not forget, I've seen how you can get testy with people. Lord Derwent, Colonel Fitzwilliam, this recalls a significant matter." Elizabeth drew herself up and said formally, "I thank you on behalf of myself and my entire sex for the excellent care you took in Mr. Darcy's education. I can inform you that he has the most charming address possible, and that his smile is quite enough to make any lady swoon. I understand that without _your_ care he would have spent the last years standing on the edges of the room during balls thinking about Latin."

Both gentlemen nodded seriously, and Derwent said, "He once did insult a woman terribly while at university. Boxed his ears in, we did. You'd have been sent right off by his nonsense without our help."

"I know."

Darcy grinned, "Elizabeth, dearest Elizabeth, you should thank them for the benefits their training has led me to bestow on other women, but as for yourself, a single sight of your flashing eyes, and brilliant smile and ivory cheeks, the coral of your lips and—"

"Do you mean to say you would have behaved yourself just because I struck you through the chest with a single glance, for you may recall, I looked, and you were _not_ in fact bleeding."

"I was too. Internally. I'd have died if you didn't dance with me."

He looked so handsome like this. Elizabeth felt the warmth from where their knees barely touched and his body a few inches away from hers. It would be dreadfully embarrassing to become filled with lust in front of all his relations.

Colonel Fitzwilliam said, "I have heard of such internal injuries. Miss Elizabeth, I thank you for saving my cousin's life."

She replied, "The pleasure was entirely mine."

Darcy shook his head. "I thought it was mainly _mine_. After all I am the one who would have died."

"Enough of that chatter." Matlock grinned. "You two do get along well. Follow good sense and you'll both do."

The butler knocked and opened the door. He was followed by Lady Margaret. She exclaimed, "I do apologize for coming so sudden, but I could not listen to another minute of Aunt Susan's lecture." She looked at Elizabeth. "Lady Susan said _you_ were here, and I do want us to meet, properly. I hope we can be friends. I was not sure at first, but the entire matter was Darcy's fault. Besides Derwent told me that you said you would let him say anything about you if a story would help protect my reputation, and you do not owe _me_ anything, so I am sensible to the kindness."

Now that Elizabeth no longer was consumed with anxiety and jealousy, she could examine Lady Margaret as the girl sat down next to her. She was very pretty, and there was a sort of innocence and friendliness about her face.

Lady Margaret shook Elizabeth's hand. "It is so romantic, just like in _Pamela_. I hear that you read a great deal. _Pamela_ is my favorite novel, do you like it?"

Elizabeth blushed, and she considered how best to reply. "I do wish us to be the dearest of friends, but I fear it is not _my_ favorite. I do see the similarity. Except I like Mr. Darcy _far_ more than I like Mr. B."

Then Elizabeth blushed, and turned away. "I…I do not know what you saw or heard, but I would understand if you despised me, and…"

"Oh, nonsense. Darcy explained how it was his fault. And you are quite desperately in love. I do not blame you for _that_. It must be so wonderful to be so in love. And I know my life is too easy and charmed, a little unpleasantness is no bother." She looked at Darcy. "I am entirely past any jealousy over him. You know, he would never even kiss me. It makes me feel quite inferior. You two suit better than we ever did. Besides, I do not like to dislike people. So, Darcy, I forgive you, and don't bother to say you do not deserve forgiveness."

Darcy rubbed at his forehead.

Elizabeth smiled at Lady Margaret. "He told me he is determined to wallow in his guilt as a matter of principle. I do not think it will hurt him over much, so best leave him to it. You remind me a little of my sister. My favorite one."

Lady Margaret seemed unsure how to take that and said, "Is that the one who…"

"She is the one who just married Mr. Bingley."

"Oh, yes."

"She always tries to think the best of everyone and does not like to bear grudges. She is a very sweet woman."

Lady Margaret tapped her hand on her dress and then said hesitantly, "Was she very much in love with Mr. Bingley when she… Ah, well, I should not speak of such things…"

Lord Matlock exclaimed, "This is the sort of nonsense girls' education leads to. They made a runaway match of it, and that is all that is to be said on the topic to silly girls like you, Greta. Anything else you may have heard of course has left your memory."

The woman crimsoned.

Elizabeth said enthusiastically, "Jane is _very_ much in love with Mr. Bingley. And it is so delightful, she met him the same evening I met Darcy. And we could all see how Bingley and Darcy were close as brothers, and now they shall truly be brothers. Jane had first seen Mr. Bingley a few days earlier when he rode down the street, and they stopped and stared into each other's eyes right there. It was quite scandalous; they could not keep their eyes off each other. I knew it _then_ that my Jane would marry him, and she did."

"Oh." Lady Margaret was pensive for a moment, and then came to a resolution. "In that case, I would be glad to make her acquaintance when the couple returns to London."

Elizabeth knew that Jane's social position would be more tenuous than even hers, and a promise of this sort meant something. She said, "Thank you, thank you. You shall like each other very much."

"We are almost related… After all Darcy is nearly my cousin, and you shall be also."

When the time of the visit to Matlock House ended, Darcy said as he climbed into the carriage after her, "I told you that there was nothing to be nervous about."

Elizabeth grinned and pushed him. "I do like them, especially _Richard_. Shall you box his ears about for that?"

"Of course I shall. Asking my dear fiancée to call him by his Christian name, with the excuse that we shall all be related. Fiendish. But I know you love me better."

"I am not certain; redcoats are very dashing. And he _did_ prove he can quote poetry."

Mrs. Gardiner had sent along Ruth to chaperone them during the carriage ride. She winked at Darcy and then turned to study the back paneling of the carriage.

Elizabeth decided that she would definitely hire the girl away from her aunt as Darcy drew her face to his and kissed her soundly.

"Do you love me better now?"

"I am still not sure; I think you must kiss me longer."

"Forever."


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: So here we are at the end, a bit faster I think than some readers were hoping for based on the comments.**

 **Before you read this, I'd like to make a request to all of you who enjoyed this book (also to those of you who did not like the book, yet were unable to stop reading for some reason - sorry, I've been there. And it happens, even with good books, some people dislike them). There are billions of people who are desperately poor and who we can help. Part of the reason I write is so that I can ask people to donate to Doctors Without Borders or a similar organization. So please, if you enjoyed my book, take a minute to think about if you can give some conveniently small fraction of your income each month to literally stop people from dying.**

 **Also, on a much more personal note, I'm going to be in the London from Sept 5 to 22, and so if there are any locals reading this who might like to meet the author send me a message.**

One perfect autumn afternoon at Pemberley, some twenty-five years after his marriage, Fitzwilliam Darcy finished his business for the day and immediately walked out onto the grounds in the direction the gardener thought Lizzy had gone off in.

He was now past fifty, and his hair had turned a distinguished silver that drove Elizabeth wild. She had always loved to play with his hair, and she thought the look of the stately gentleman sat _exceedingly_ well on him. Like his uncle, Darcy had allowed none of his lean figure to fade, and he was still in perfect health.

The trail went along the river, and there were a gorgeous variety of plants growing up everywhere, and Darcy smelled the familiar scents of autumn. The leaves had turned yellow, and the trees were half bare. It was a warm day for this time of year. He slowed down to enjoy the afternoon warmth, and the sound of the stream burbling, and most of all the anticipation of seeing Elizabeth again.

Most of his family had done very well. Lord Matlock was still healthy and active, though he was past eighty. Georgiana had not married until she was six and twenty, and her match had been to an exiled French count who was known for spending most of his time conducting chemistry experiments. They were quite happy, and Darcy was simply pleased that his sister had at last decided to marry.

Matlock's prediction that the scandal would be forgotten proved true, and for many years now both Elizabeth and her sister Jane were fully accepted by most in society, though Elizabeth preferred to spend more time in the country than London.

Lydia had a large brood of children, all sons. The youngest wished to take up his father's profession, but the rest had used the opportunity that Darcy and Bingley's patronage provided to let them settle themselves into more respectable and profitable lines of business. They were all excellent young men, and their masters and employers spoke highly of them.

Darcy thought Elizabeth had probably sat down amongst a set of benches with a view that opened out onto a flowered meadow and a prospect of the house. The stream burbled right past it, and Elizabeth had adored that spot since she first saw it as a blushing bride. There was a little gazebo that had been put there so they could sit there sheltered and watch when it rained.

He had told Lizzy that business would not keep him late today, so she would be somewhere he could find easily.

They had only had two children, and both were away now. Their daughter Jane was the older child. She had married an excellent young man whose estate was only twenty miles from Pemberley a few years before. Darcy and Elizabeth already had two grandchildren, and a third was on the way. The children were still tiny, and they were completely adorable. Every month, except when the roads were dangerously icy during the deeper winters, Darcy and Elizabeth went to stay with their daughter for a few days so they could play with the children.

Charles was now in his second year at Cambridge, and he constantly got into harmless scrapes with his cousin and closest friend, Bingley's oldest son.

Since both of his children were healthy and happy, Darcy was not at all displeased that Elizabeth had not had more children. While both her pregnancies had been easy, the periods of labor were the most terrifying days of his life, and for weeks following each birth memories of his mother's death haunted him. When Elizabeth had said something about that to Georgiana, Darcy's sister had suggested they use French practices to reduce the chances of conception.

Lizzy sometimes missed the children greatly. Darcy did too. But it was wonderful for it to be just the two of them again.

She sat where he had expected, and a book sat on the bench next to her. Elizabeth had her eyes closed and her face was screwed up into look of concentration. Since she gave no sign of hearing his approach, Darcy sat as quietly as he could on a bench across from her.

Her facial expressions had always fascinated him. Elizabeth was no longer a young woman, but she was still startlingly beautiful. At least to him. She had a thoughtful frown and her bottom lip was drawn between her teeth. While not quite as loose as the dresses of their youth, Elizabeth's blue silk gown was free flowing and the line of her knee was visible.

He watched as little smiles came over her face, and then her cheeks softened into a perfect sweet look. It made his heart catch.

He wondered what she was thinking of. These unguarded moments were his delight. She would often sit in his study reading, and he would stop writing his correspondence, and just stare at the way she bit at her fingers, or frowned in concentration, or how if it was a particularly good novel, little tears might gather at the edge of her eyes. She would catch him staring, and laugh at him, and tell him to do his work. And then they would kiss, and he would not do any work at all.

The skin of her face was still mostly smooth, though time had removed the youthful glow like dew. There were little wrinkles about the eyes which came from her constant laughter and smiling. It made her more beautiful. Half his life had been spent laughing with her. He felt such tenderness in his every nerve for her.

She smiled again, and her face went pink, and her lips pouted out and she breathed a little heavily. Darcy shifted to look at her a little more closely, and some noise he made broke the spell.

Elizabeth gasped, her eyes opening wide, and then laughed. "How long were you watching me?"

"I have watched you forever; you know that your face is always the sole sight before my eyes."

"Oh? How did you manage to walk from the house without tripping?"

She jumped up and as soon as she reached his bench she nestled in his lap, rubbing her bottom against him, and kissed him soundly.

He kissed her back eagerly. There was a small temptation to drag her off and have his way with her in the bushes, as they had done a few times, but while _once_ had been a fun experience, he did not enjoy such exhibitionism.

At last they stood to take a walk together, and Darcy asked, "What were you thinking of?"

"You. Though I _am_ capable of seeing other things. How _do_ you walk if I am the only image you see?"

"I follow where you point me." Darcy rolled his eyes at her and said in a droll tone, "Obviously."

"Obviously." Elizabeth giggled.

Extravagant romantic flirts were an old joke of theirs, and Darcy occasionally spent a half hour while waiting for a hunt to start thinking up absurd things he could say to make Elizabeth laugh. He sometimes tried to give them as studied an air as possible.

"Your face was rather pink, just what were you thinking about?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth, and then closed it and bit her lip. She then took his hand and squeezed it. "I sometimes fear that I am so full of being happy that I forget how very lucky I am. I was trying to recall those months when I first met you. Do you recall how I used to imagine things being the way I wished them to be?"

"I could never forget. It was how I first saw you. It was when I fell in love with the play of expression over your vibrant face. You are much prettier today though." Elizabeth pushed him. "You _were_ pretty then. You certainly caught my eye, so it is no insult."

"I will confess I have aged very handsomely," Elizabeth said with a pretty laugh.

Darcy took her hand and kissed it. "There is no way you could have been as pretty _then_ as you are today. I did not know you yet, and I had not shared so much with you. No girl of twenty, even if she was you, could be so…" Darcy choked up suddenly. "No girl could be so beautiful to me as the mother of my children, as the companion of my life, as the woman I have laughed with for so long. In another twenty-five years, when I am as old as Uncle Matlock, and you are seventy, I shall find you yet more beautiful, for our shared bond of time spent together shall be even thicker."

"Oh." Little tears of happiness sprouted in her eyes, and Elizabeth kissed him. "You so often say such absurd things, and then you manage something like that."

Smiling himself with emotion, he kissed her and hugged her and whispered, "I will always love you."

It was a perfect moment. The yellow light of the sun bathed them, a warm breeze blew over their skin, and Elizabeth's familiar perfume filled his nostrils.

"This is why it would be so ridiculous if I did that today," she said when they began to walk along the path again.

Darcy blinked, but then recalled what they had been talking about before. "I could not imagine being happier than I am now either."

Elizabeth nodded. "Our life has been so perfect. If I ever need to feel happier, I would just think about you, and about the children, and the grandchildren, and…you."

"That, however, does not explain why you were blushing."

"I said, I was remembering."

"And what memory were you drawing upon?"

"Our wedding night."

"I was a randy young buck, wasn't I? No finesse or style. I bet I could give you a far better memory now."

Elizabeth laughed, "I don't think it will ever have the same _meaning_ as the first time, but I confess you _have_ improved."

"Only because you have become prettier."

Elizabeth blushed and kissed him again. Then she critically looked at him. "You've never put on any weight — which I thank you for."

Darcy understood where her mind was going. "And your dress size is almost the same."

"Only very slight alterations will be needed. Ruth can have them done in twenty minutes."

"Do you want to have John dress up as a vicar to marry us, or should we just go straight to matters?" Darcy waggled his eyebrows in a manner that suggested going straight to matters was his preference.

"I think we can manage without having your valet impersonate a clergyman. The wedding ceremony was not the _best_ part of the day in any case. But do you recall what we ate for dinner that night? We could have it served again."

"And we shall need to get a quartet together to play for us so we can dance. This time Richard will not be there to keep me from dancing the night entire with you."

"I thought you wished to go straight to matters."

"Maybe we'll just dance half the night."

Arm in arm they walked back to Pemberley to make a new memory.


End file.
